


Northbound

by RandomCat23



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms
Genre: Carol/Ed (Temp), F/M, Fake Marriage, Romance, Season 1, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Warning: Domestic Abuse, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23769010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomCat23/pseuds/RandomCat23
Summary: Daryl takes the last train out of Georgia because it's his last chance to make it out of Atlanta alive. After Merle left him, he doesn't plan on being responsible for anyone but himself. That is, until he meets Carol and suddenly he's playing husband and father to a woman and a girl he just met.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 78





	1. The Last Train Out of Georgia

Daryl glared at the battery operated clock. He swiveled to the hotel room door and back again, the red numbers ticking forward too quickly. Sadistically.

It was the last operating electronic in the room. The microwave was dead. The television, a blank screen. All the lights had gone out a week ago. All except the emergency ones that barely lit up the grey hallway when Daryl squinted through the peep hole. 

He paced through the collection of beer bottles and food wrappers.

The clock read 3:30 pm.

He had forty-five minutes to get out of here, forty-five minutes before the last train in Georgia pulled out of the station.

* * *

It had collapsed quickly, like a house of cards. They were fools for not seeing how fragile society was. The dead had popped out of the ground hungry and the government promised safety in the city. Merle and Daryl had followed the instructions to come to Atlanta and were given a room and rations while the military fought for stability.

Then the lights went out and the gun shots started.

Then Merle disappeared into the night with their buddy Marty, both high as a kite, leaving Daryl to pace a trench in the hotel floor. He chain smoked while more and more dead folk lumbered past the windows. Merle never came back. There was more than cigarette butts on the floor, but Daryl ignored the tears and the empty bottles.

And the holes in the drywall.

He would have looked for Merle, but had no idea where he went. So just like he had his entire life, Daryl stayed put and waited for guidance.

Then the static broke and the radio whispered about the train. What couldn't have been more than ten seconds stretched into hours, the gaps between the words plummeting his gut only to swoop in for the save with the next broken detail.

_Leaving...Renegade Statio...uesday at 4:05 pm._

The broadcast had finished strong. It went off like a bomb in his head, destroying his lethargic huffing on the floor. Everything around him that was _fine_ only seconds ago was now disgusting and choking. There was nothing left for him in this hotel room.

Daryl had blinked at the calendar posted on the wall, pretending he didn't see the erratic slashes through the days spent alone.

It was Sunday.

The train left in two days.

* * *

The train would leave in a half hour.

Daryl snarled, "Fuck you, Merle."

After the broadcast he had gathered all his goods by the door, careful to not block the entry just in case Merle made it back. He stared at the pile through an alcoholic haze: his crossbow and bolts, a backpack, rope, handkerchief, knives. With a clarity brought on by adrenaline, he also thought to grab food, some water, but mostly a backup plan, alcohol. If he failed, he wanted to go out buzzed and hot and angry. 

With one last glare at the clock and the absence of his brother, Daryl bit back an angry sob and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. It was a game of minutes. How many times growing up had Merle showed up at just the last second to save Daryl from getting sucker punched or stabbed? Then again, how many times had Merle failed to show up at all? Guilt and debt slowed down his motions as he held out hope.

Once there was nothing left to adjust, Daryl sighed heavily, "Asshole."

There were muffled cries in the hallway when he exited the room, lips smacking, eyes stinging. Behind more than one door came nothing but deathly silence. As he took off down the hallway the alcoholic buzz seeped further and further into his mind, forced away but always simmering just below his skin.

The contents in his stomach sloshed as he descended the stairs. Rusty smears coated the cinder brick wall. Daryl pushed through the crooked emergency exit door without looking back.

The world outside was much like he expected, gray and quiet. It was too quiet for how many people milled around the street. He shouldered his supply bag and swayed, matching the crowd in front of him with bent necks. A lady in blue overalls turned, reached for him, and let out a hungry groan.

Another clap of sobriety hit Daryl like a brick. Just as the person--thing--lunged, Daryl sent it flying backward with a kick. Five more of the sick fuckers approached. Their dead eyes latched onto him.

A wisp of memory struck him, another static lifesaver: _... hit the head._

Recovered, the first creature snapped at his forearm. Daryl stopped its attack with a bone-cracking stab to the head. Two bolts finished off the other closest people--corpses. Daryl grabbed the bolt shafts and sprinted.

By some stroke of luck their hotel was on the outskirts of Atlanta, just beyond what could be called the down town area. Out here there were less hipsters and sky scrapers, more doctors' offices and dreams of suburbia. The station was only about a mile away as the crow flied. He tore through roads that had become used car parking lots, ignoring the screams and the bloody mess on more than one corner.

He forced his eyes forward to the train yard, afraid to look back.

Four lines of tracks went into the station and then disappeared beyond the horizon and buildings. Only one track was occupied.

The engine gleamed silver and red. It was an impressive machine; it probably carried rich folk across the country at one time. Behind it, one matching passenger coach was followed by a hodgepodge of cars. Rusty cattle transports, open top coal cars, box cars, combining for eleven total.

Once he spotted the engine some of the adrenaline wore off and the muscle ache kicked in. Daryl noted a handful of sick fuckers--the walking dead--making their way in his direction and shifted closer to the train. He ducked behind a stack of crates. While catching his breath, he surveyed the area further. 

A pair of fences ran parallel to the tracks, the first one easily climbable with all the crates stacked against it. More crates and barrels filled the space between the fences. Without a watch he had no idea how much time was left. He sucked in a breath and climbed. 

The fence rattled under him. He easily dropped from the fence, to a barrel, to the ground. Daryl weaved through the piles of forgotten supplies. As he got closer to the second fence, muffled chatter reached his ears and he glimpsed movement near the train cars. The smell of smoke wafted from the engine.

Out of nowhere gunfire shot through the air and yells followed, a sick version of lightning and thunder. He threw himself behind a dead truck. Another gunshot clanged off metal. By the time he peeked over the truck's hood, two rounds of the staccato had come and gone.

Two gun-toting men swaggered along the side of the train. Someone's squeak in an open car was silenced with a bullet. Daryl flinched. Knees bent, he crawled closer to get a better look. Just as he reached the second fence another round of shots fired and then there was silence.

The two gunmen laid dead and someone was plucking up their weapons. Whoever he was climbed back into the train cockpit, spat out the window and sounded the horn.

The train jerked, the couplings clicking together down the train like a wave. And then it moved. A chug, a huff, and the train caught stride. The last moving transportation out of this city. Daryl gaped at it.

"Shit!"

Daryl threw his stuff over the second fence, scratching his arm in the process. 

The train picked up steam. 

"Hey!" Desperation pitched his voice high. It got lost in the chugging of the wheels and the tinkling bottles in his bag.

His plea was answered by a snarl. A walking corpse with a slack jaw fumbled for his sleeve. Daryl kicked the body away and clambered over the fence. 

_"Never gonna make that passenger car."_

Car after car rolled out of reach as the train sped up. Daryl watched as it blew up bodies in its path. More of the dead pinched in from the other direction as he huffed and sprinted, picking out the last box car as his best bet. The roar of the train was deafening. His eyes watered from the dust cloud kicked up by the spinning wheels. Foot by foot the train flew past, a blur of metal and paint. 

He aimed for the opening and jumped with a grunt.

His hands found purchase on the door and yanked his body along with the train. Something jabbed his knee and for a split second his entire lower half hung suspended over the wheels. Grunting, he swung the bruised knee over the edge and lifted himself onto the dark platform.

The fences whizzed by and disappeared. The urban train yard melted into the distance. He was just about to laugh out of relief, when he spun inward and the prettiest pair of blue eyes met his, followed by the world's runner up. Daryl instinctively snarled even as the two people backed further into shadow.

"Who the fuck are you?" A voice growled from the other side.

Turning toward the threatening tone, Daryl was greeted by the long barrel of a rifle. He cursed, instantly regretting his choice of car.


	2. Ain't the Hero

A large man sneered down the gun barrel. "This is our car," he said.

Trees and buildings _whip, whip, whip_ , behind Daryl's back. A drop of sweat threatened to skew his vision. Daryl risked wiping it away so he could keep an eye on the man's trigger finger as he rose to meet his aggressor. He wiped his mouth and took a wide stance to counteract the train's movement. 

"The fuck it is."

"We were here first," the man reasoned. His legs bowed like a comical version of a cowboy.

Daryl let his crossbow and backpack slide down his arm. He took a step into the car. "Yer name ain't on it."

"Ed. It's fine." The rebuke was so timid compared to the loud man and the train, Daryl nearly missed it.

That blue gaze glimmered in the shadow again. Squinting, he made out the owner, a thin woman with short grey hair. She had a tight grip on a young girl. Daryl frowned; the kid had the look of a beaten puppy, thin blonde hair and the cautious stance of one used to pain. 

Distracted, he never heard the man launch his attack.

The blow came hard but misplaced, knocking Daryl's shoulder instead of his ear. His palms and knees smacked against the floor. Daryl rolled, landing closer to the open door. A knife was in his hand before he stopped moving.

The man--Ed--cocked his gun.

"Ed, no!"

"Shut up." Ed's lip curled and a vein in his neck pulsed. "Make this easy and just jump off."

"Fuck no." Daryl kept his low crouch as his heart rattled in his chest. It was just his luck that he chose the car that required a fight. There was nowhere to hide. The pile of straw on the far side was the only other object in the car besides the family's belongings. Daryl tightened his grip on the knife and waited for Ed to make the first move.

Ed's finger slid along the trigger when, suddenly, his head snapped back violently. Daryl's jaw slammed off the floor. Crashes and bangs exploded down the train. The wheels squealed and the four of them were thrown to the front of the car and then backward. 

Steam hissed along the tracks. The train did not move.

Daryl's world spun and then settled into a swing of double visions. Frantic, he located his attacker at the far end of the boxcar. Ed had landed on his back and flailed like a drunk turtle. Daryl took advantage of the time to flex his jaw and shake his head. Vision momentarily cleared, he crawled to his knife and gathered up his crossbow and bag.

There were distant gunshots.

Someone whimpered.

The girl screamed.

Daryl spun around and instantly regretted the movement. He pinched the bridge of his nose and willed the world to stand still. The girl's four legs dangling out the car melted back into two. The eight gray hands that fumbled for her shoes swung into four.

"Sophia!" The woman must have had a better landing than him or her husband because, quick as a cat, she grabbed her daughter's flailing hands.

Pulled between her mother and two dead ones on the ground outside, the girl screamed again. Her wild kicks, the powerful kind produced by a frenzied animal, were the only thing keeping her skin out of their drooling mouths.

The woman shrieked as her foot slipped.

"Mama!!"

In a dive, Daryl yanked the girl back in the car. Blood pounding at his temples, he ended the corpses' frustrated growls swiftly and slammed the door shut, sending the car into shadow. Dozens of hands banged at the door. Daryl suppressed a wince.

The three passengers stared at him through the thin beams of light punctuating the car, the girl from her mother's embrace, the man from the shadows of the car. The woman, lip wobbling, stuttered, "Tha...thank..."

"Stay away from the fucking door!" Daryl snapped and the girl burst into tears.

"Stay away from my daughter!"

Daryl bent his knees to receive the oncoming attack, but Ed still caught him with a fist. After taking the first one to his jaw, Daryl spat and collected his fists. The banging on the door matched the throbbing at his temple. Nothing new, the noise was just like the patrons at bars who cheered on fist fights by smashing bottles and slapping their hands on the pool table. Someone always enjoyed the show.

Dipping low, he landed a blow to Ed's gut and smirked at his whimper. Daryl then tackled Ed.

"Just saved her fuckin' life," he reminded Ed in between labored breaths. To hide his shaking knees, Daryl dropped to the floor. "I ain't leavin'." He punched him again for good order. As Daryl caught his breath, Ed was reduced to garbled cursing. Satisfied, Daryl limped off to the opposite end of the car with his belongings and collapsed into a pile of hay.

The scratchy sticks weren't much support for his joints or the small of his back. Anger and exhaustion battled over his consciousness. He went back and forth between glaring at the family and his eyelids drooping. The woman--Carol--soothed her husband more with words than physical gestures.

"Oh Ed. Oh Ed," she repeated over and over. Ed swat away her shaking hands and then he made a show of gathering up his gun and other belongings into the opposite corner.

"You can stay, but only 'cause you saved my daughter," Ed yelled as if he was doing Daryl a favor. He pointed a finger at the floor. "But this is our car first. You stay over there. Or else."

Daryl flexed his jaw, completely undisturbed by Ed's outbursts; he was just a predictable dumbass. Surprisingly, it was the woman he found himself following. She made careful movements around her husband, shoulders flinching when he muttered under his breath. The last thing he witnessed before darkness over took him was the man twisting her arm and her pathetic yelp.

* * *

The gentle rocking of the train cradled him into sleep. The foggy remnants of dreams floated on the back of his eyelids as they fluttered open. Daryl stiffened; the woman held a sheet in the crook of her arm not five feet from him. She was close enough he could see the stitch of her shirt. Daryl scrambled away.

She held out her hand. There were two brown pills in her palm. "Thank you for saving Sophia."

"What?"

"It's ibuprofen. Y-you were holding you head," she quivered, losing whatever confidence had carried her across the car. "And you reek of alcohol."

Her mouth twisted into a knowing grin and his cheeks flamed.

"Carol," Ed barked.

Carol flinched and a stony mask replaced her smile. 

The pills were in his hand before he realized he grabbed them. 

She fluttered the sheet. "We thought it be good to give each other some privacy."

The barrier was up before she finished her explanation. Deft fingers looped and tied a thin rope across the width of the car. She folded a sheet over it. It wasn't much more than a filter. Her retreating form was a cloudy shadow.

It wasn't until she sat alongside her daughter that Daryl dug water out of his bag and downed the medicine. One pill got stuck in his throat. He swallowed hard and sunk deeper into the hay. 

Daryl heard her earnest plea over the clacking of the train. "He saved Sophia." 

"I saved us by getting this train." The sharp noise of a slap ended the woman's voice. "Don't you forget it."

Exhaustion swelled up in force and Daryl passed out.

* * *

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

Daryl blinked. The light was gone and the train moved in slow waves. It reminded him of how his father used to drive, punching the gas pedal and then easing off, punching it, and then easing off. The rocking motion used to make him sick. Now it was soothing.

He squinted across the car and identified the sleeping lumps of the family. No detective work was necessary to determine which two were clustered together. Daryl rolled his head and his stare widened.

The car door slid open with each wave and then clicked back into place. The stars and moon illuminated shadowy forms outside. Dead ones.

_"Gotta be dozens of them."_ The observation clenched his stomach. 

Sway and _click_. Sway and _click_.

_"Moved fast on the girl, earlier. If the train stops they might--"_

Daryl rose to his knees. 

At the next slow point in the train's movement, Daryl shifted into a wide stance and watched the opening for any hungry fingertips. Up close, he could hear the sick moans of the walking corpses. The door rolled and ground its way shut again. Swiftly, Daryl latched the door. Just as he sighed in relief, he was thrown to the ground. He whipped around, ignoring the flood of blood in his mouth, searching for a gap at the door. The lock held. Relieved, he spat to the side.

Screams erupted from the next car over. Desperate, feral screeches intermixed with gun shots and banging.

"Robert, no! Robert! Rob--"

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

"Fuck--!"

_Bang!_

"Holy shit!"

Another voice cut off in a crescendo of growls. Somewhere else other gun shots ripped into the night. The train lurched once and then lurched again. There's nothing to see, but Daryl fixated on the car wall. His mind projected the carnage on the metal that was happening just feet away.

"Kill it, kill it!"

"No. No. No!"

_Bang! Bang!_

The train sped up and the rails and wheels squeaked. There was the distinct sound of a moving object smacking a fleshy body. And then again. And again, until the train was moving at a good pace. For awhile the all he heard was clacking mixed with _thump thump thump_.

Once the train cleared the bodies, Daryl shivered. He checked the lock again and then risked a glance behind him. All three lumps were now upright, but no one said a word.

If he blinked, he would have missed it. But he could have sworn the woman nodded at him. Then again, it was probably just the movement of the train.

* * *

The dull ache in his groin prodded and grew. Daryl attempted to ignore it, to push himself back over the edge to sleep. He didn't want to open his eyes and take in reality, to let go of the peaceful fantasy. He grunted and turned into the hay stack again in a last ditch effort to chase that hazy dream.

Then it was gone. And now he really had to piss.

Smacking his lips, he stood fully prepared to aim into a crack by the door, but found it open.

It was then he noticed the train was stopped and the woman and her daughter were outside at the base of the rail bed.

The husband was nowhere to be seen.

Daryl squinted into the sun.

"Fifteen minute break," the woman--Carol--called up to him. Her arms were outstretched holding a blanket. Presumably the girl was squatting behind it. Carol swiveled her head around. Whether it was for walkers or Ed, the fear in her eyes was evident.

Perplexed, he dismounted and walked to the front of the car to relieve himself. They were in a grassy field with an old barn nearby. Neglected soybeans roasted in the next plot over. Up and down the train, people stretched, pissed, defecated, whatever. There were more passengers than he thought. Families, loners, couples. Maybe fifty-some people in total.

Daryl eyed the brown, rusty stain on the car ahead of them, then spat to his other side.

Done, he turned back to Carol and flushed. Her grey head peaked out behind the sheet now while the girl craned her head away.

Frowning, he glanced down the train and then at all the people milling about. Unwilling to risk the train leaving without him and to provide more privacy for those outside, Daryl jumped back in the box car. He sat on the car edge and lit a cigarette, keeping a watchful eye on the tall weeds. Fuzzy clouds twisted in his mind, making his head heavy. How did the passengers know this was a planned stop?

"The Engineer announced it over the com system," Carol answered his unspoken curiosity. She approached with her sheet folded over her arm. "We get two a day."

"You'd know that if you were on time." Ed reappeared, adjusting his belt. "Stowaway."

"Nobody said anything about tickets, Sir Topham Hatt," Daryl sneered and flicked the butt at Ed's feet.

"I could kill you at any point and I wouldn't waste any energy feeling bad about it." Ed whispered his threat, but couldn't hide the bloodlust in his voice. Sophia clutched a doll, Carol looked halfway to a faint.

Daryl drew his knife in an arc that nearly clipped Ed's jabbing finger. "I'd love to see you try."

The train tooted and someone said, "All aboard!"

Ed swallowed, but refused to back away even as Daryl retreated to his pile of hay. It was Carol and the girl climbing into the car that broke their stare down. Ed muttered a curse, spat, and hefted himself onto the car bed.

From somewhere, a voice crackled, _"Morning. My apologies for the unexpected stop last night. These dead 'uns are wandering further than I saw even three days ago. No matter. We got plenty of coal to carry us."_

It was just clear enough to spark a memory; it was the same voice that had come over the radio. Calm and reassuring with a bit of a drawl.

_"Still going north. Just may take a few detours along the way. This is your final call."_

The train started moving before the static faded.

* * *

It didn't take long. A day and a half at most and finally sober, it struck him. Stuck in the shadows of a box car with nothing but a broken family and horse feed, it hit him.

Daryl roasted in guilt and anger about Merle. 

_"That fucker left me!"_

It was true. But his brother's absence gnawed on him down to his marrow. What if Merle had come back not even an hour after Daryl had left to an empty hotel room in a doomed city? High, or drunk, or horny with two women on his arms, cawing about doing the end of the world thing right.

_"He said he'd back the night he left."_

Daryl remembered it clear as day. Merle had promised a plan and weapons. Merle with his stupid shit-eating grin and Marty with his mellowed face, looking like he was about to melt. Thirty-six hours was a long leeway.

The train couldn't take him far enough away from Atlanta to ease his guilt. Daryl threw an arm over his eyes as if he could block the visions. Like a mold, they persisted. They crawled up the backs of his eyelids, whispered taunting and demeaning curses at him. 

_You left your family, you piece of shit._

_You know what happens to those who abandon their blood?_

_Bad things, Baby Brother._ Merle shook his head. _Bad things._

With a growl, Daryl ripped open his bag. He needed to get rid of these ghosts. He'd do anything to quiet the voice in his head. He grabbed his second bottle of alcohol. The cork broke when he opened it. 

_"Perfect,"_ he thought after taking his first swig. " _Didn't want to save any anyway."_

The Merle in his mind dimmed as if he stepped behind a foggy window. 

Daryl tipped the bottle back again, winced as it burned down his throat. Another. Another.

Across the car, Ed jabbed a finger in his direction. 

"Got somethin' ta say, Ed?" Daryl crowed, alcohol loosening his tongue. His fingers curled into a fist. It would feel so good to hit something. It would feel so good to hit Ed's pudgy face. "I can see yer talking about me."

His vision swirled, but he thought he saw the woman restrain her husband. Ed smacked at her.

"You get off on hittin' women and kids? Dontcha Ed?"

_"Come on. Come fight me, you piece of shit."_

Daryl slumped to the side. He wasn't sure if it was from the train or that he just lost his balance. Ed got to his feet, shaking with rage. Daryl cackled to himself.

"Mind yer own business," Ed whispered so harshly spittle flew from his mouth.

Daryl took another drink. He wiped his chin. His head swam.

He left his brother behind.

He needed to hit.

He needed to be hit. Just like those times in the bar when Merle would stage a fight. 

_"Everyone enjoys a show, Darylina,"_ he'd say while counting his tips and Daryl nursed a black eye. _"There always needs ta be a hero and a villain. And, well,"_ Merle had cackled, _"You ain't the hero, Brother."_

"Come on!"

But Ed never crossed the boxcar, tugged down by that slim wisp of a woman. Daryl slumped over and floated in and out of awareness. The rage was a numb pain in his chest. Rage at himself. Rage at Merle. Rage at this family staring at him, witnessing his weakness and not taking advantage of him because of it.

He passed out.

He didn't see Ed strike Carol again.

He didn't see Ed's nasty grin or hear him say, "Just you wait, redneck trash. You'll get what's coming to ya."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed sucks. But, Carol and Daryl have met so that's something at least. Thanks for reading!


	3. Blood Debt

_He dreamed he was in a tree stand with Merle. Quiet as can be, Daryl focused on the task at hand while Merle kept trying to chat. His brother's toothy grin hinted at the ridiculousness of last night's escapades. Daryl hushed him and pointed at the deer bending to drink. He cocked the crossbow and scooted to the edge of the stand._

_Merle smacked him hard on the back of his head._

_Daryl fell_.

_"Gotta watch your back, Baby Brother."_

_Whoosh!_

Whoosh!

Daryl's eyes ripped open. Air rushed under his head and through his hair, the strands inches from the whirling train wheels. He gasped. He flailed for purchase on the under carriage but couldn't reach it. A heavy stone crushed his back.

"Teach ya to mess with me!"

Ed pressed his knee deeper into Daryl's spine. Two thick hands clamped around Daryl's throat and pushed him closer to the sparking wheels. It thundered. _Clack clack clack_. The pressure on his back increased. He coughed. He tried to roll. Then, the pressure was gone and he shot upward.

Daryl scrambled back from the edge and targeted Ed with clenched a fist. But the man's back was to him; he had a new target. There was a jarring _smack_ as Ed slapped Carol's cheek. She dropped the rifle. It clattered to the floor, its end shiny in the shadows. A second later, Ed's white knuckles clamped around his wife's neck. 

Cusses hot and jagged spewed from his mouth. "Cunt! Slut!" The woman weakly clawed at her husband's grip. Ed buried a hand in his hair. It came out red. Instantly, Ed's face matched the blood. "How dare you hit me!"

"Let 'er go!"

Like a bull, Daryl charged him. Upon the impact Ed lost his grip on his wife. She dropped to her knees. Momentum carried the men to the other side of the car where they smacked off the wall. Breaths puffed out of Daryl hard and fast. His veins sang as he kicked Ed to the floor. Straddling Ed, Daryl punched him. 

"Fucker!"

Ed's lip split. His eyes swelled shut.

Daryl stalled his assault only when the sting from his knuckles out-powered the rage. Fisting Ed's shirt, he landed one more punch and then left Ed wheezing on the floor. 

Daryl flopped onto his back. The vibrations of the train wheels rattled through his bones. A cursory swipe along his face came away with a smear of blood. After a few ragged breathes, he glanced at the woman.

She had made no attempt to clean the mess on her cheeks. Her shoulders rose and dropped sharply. Otherwise, she was kneeling statue. The kid was half hidden in the pile of hay, silent as a ghost. The train swayed and squealed. Then, as if his attention carried a magnetic charge, Carol's eyes latched onto his.

Two events happened at once.

One, he saw, really saw the woman for the first time. Short grey hair to limit Ed's grabbing options. Clothing picked and worn to hide the damage from the last rage. Intimately familiar with the look of day old bruises mixed with fresh ones, Daryl grimaced. Merle would say it was none of his business. But, hell, if he hadn't just made it his business. Maybe Ed would just crawl into the corner and sleep it off. Maybe the train would arrive wherever the hell they were going and they could all go their separate ways. 

An attractive fantasy, that.

_Have you hit your head so hard you've gone stupid?_

A calm washed over Daryl. The last inhale before death or triumph. He'd only experienced it once before when Merle's drug dealer leveled a gun at him after he questioned the quality of the product. Stupid question. Merle had rushed in with sweet, twisted words and the guy stuffed the gun back in his waist band, clapping Merle on the shoulder.

Daryl didn't have Merle or a honeyed tongue to get him out of this one.

This wasn't over until someone was dead.

Two, Ed wobbled to his feet, eyes narrow like a snake. He towered over Daryl, rage twisting his mouth into a demonic snarl. "I shoulda shot you the second you stuck your grimy head in this car!"

The alcohol in his system overtook the adrenaline. It was like sludge had exploded in all of his joints and tendons. Daryl rolled away from Ed's boot stomp just in time. Daryl clambered to his feet. Caught in the movement of the train, the two men knocked shoulders. Ed kneed him. Grunting, Daryl slipped toward the open door and tripped.

"Fuck!"

He fumbled for the hand hold and grabbed it at the last second. He dangled over the edge. Wind blasted him in the face. Eyes wide, panic shot through him. With a grunt, Daryl yanked himself inside along the side of the car. His knees buckled and he had to brace his hands against the car to keep from falling to the floor.

Not missing out on an advantage, Ed marched toward him with a bloody, toothy grin. 

"You're done!" Ed lunged.

Daryl launched off the wall.

Ed hit nothing but metal. He lost his footing and slammed down onto the edge of the car. Dazed, he laid there, one knee hooked around the open door. 

Daryl staggered to a stop. His hands trembled. He flicked his wrists, trying to steady his nerves. It was time to end this. It had to be done. Ed swatted at him as Daryl gripped Ed's shirt and dragged him to the car opening.

"No. Please," Ed pleaded. Spit and blood bubbled from his mouth. 

"Fuck you. Tryin' ta kill me?"

Daryl smacked away the man's flapping hand and kicked him in the ribs. A surge of strength swelled in him as he took one last look at the coward, the wife-beater trash. Then, Daryl kicked Ed off the edge. 

Ed's eyes went wide like plates and then they were gone.

There wasn't a thud or a even yelp, just the continued clacking of the train down the tracks.

Heaving, Daryl slammed the door shut. Thinking better of it, he lifted a limp hand and latched it.

Doors shut and locked, it hit him.

He was a murderer. 

It had to be done, but that justification didn't make it easier. Suddenly, there wasn't enough alcohol in him. From his bag Daryl pulled out the shittiest bottle of whiskey and gulped down four big swigs. It dribbled down his chin and neck. Capping the bottle, the situation hit him again, this time like a wrecking ball.

He just killed a man.

In the middle of the car, Carol finally shifted.

He wheeled on her.

"You got something to say?" He yelled at her doe-like stare. "He came after me! I ain't sorry, I ain't!" He took another swig, and then another because half of the first dripped down his beard. A third because her lip had started to bleed.

He collapsed into his pile of hay, dazed. Where had all his energy gone? Did he really just--

_Left Merle._

_Just killed a man_.

Carol blinked at him. Her throat and cheek were red.

_Clack clack clack clack clack._

Sophia wailed from the back end of the car.

"Shut the fuck up," he screamed. A sick knot twisted his gut. He gagged.

_Left Merle._

_Just killed a man._

_"_ I said shut up!" He roared into the silent car.

_Killed Merle._

He chugged the whiskey.

_Killed a man._

_"You ain't the hero, Baby Brother."_

He chugged it until he couldn't remember, until Carol's blue eyed stare blurred into nothing.

* * *

Carol cried out once and then fell silent. No angry words, no noise at all. She simply sat with her arm around her daughter, blankly staring at nothing. Her only movement was to hop off the train to fulfill nature's call.

He widowed this woman.

Every time he sobered up enough for her silence to enrage him, he drank. The heavy buzz he maintained allowed him to piss off the moving train without giving two shits about the people behind him.

Relentless, Merle jabbed an imaginary finger at him.

_You pussy._

_Left yer brother in a shit hole._

_And now yer a murderer._

* * *

He woke to an aggressive boot nudge and cursed, "Fuck off, Merle--"

Carol and her kid hovered over him, clutching the rifle gun like a safety line. 

"What do ya want?" Sweat broke out over his skin; drunk on alcohol and self-hatred, could he really defend himself against this wisp of a woman? He waited for the barrel to aim for his head. Let the wife finish what the husband could not.

"Please protect us." She pulled her daughter closer.

"What?" He croaked.

"I'll trade you Ed's gun. And, and any of our supplies you want." When Daryl held his disbelieving silence, Carol insisted, "I'm not stupid. Me and Sophia alone? It's a terrible idea. We can't..." Hysteria crept into her voice before she concluded, "Let's...team up."

Caught in a haze of alcoholic sleep, Daryl rubbed his eyes and willed her to fade away. When his vision cleared and she hadn't disappeared, he cursed. The last time that rifle was in his face, Ed had threatened to end his life. Now, it was offered as a sign of peace.

"Get that thing out of my face," he growled.

She corrected her stance, but did not back away. "Please."

Daryl rose to one knee and glanced at his belongings. Crossbow, alcohol, some food. Very little food. The pile at the end wasn't much more, but it was a better stash than his. Three backpacks and some blankets. The rifle.

Carol stood back with her arm around her daughter. The duo swayed. He caught her putting the hard mask on, the little straightening of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin. He'd seen that look on his Ma before, staring dumbly over the kitchen sink with a black eye.

She was trying so damn hard to look strong.

A snarl ripped through him. He rushed her and stole the gun from her hands.

"Could just take this from ya," he said. "Could kill ya too."

He made a show of checking out the scope. Despite his anger an indescribable warmth spread in his chest at her request, the trust it took to ask a worthless redneck stranger for help. He narrowed his eyes at her again, unable to decide if she's stupid or desperate.

Both, maybe.

Carol swallowed and said, "I don't think you will." The honesty in her voice goaded him like a dare. 

His anger flared again. There were a thousand ways he could prove her wrong. He was a Dixon after all. Yell or cuss her out, make those damn blue eyes cry again and steal whatever shitty food they had in those bags. How dare she claim to know him?

However, instead of triggering his worst, that weird warmth brought his anger back down to a simmer. 

"I killed your husband," he reminded her. Daryl made himself tall and hoped his guilty grimace was interpreted as a snarl. Ed had deserved it, but that didn't wash the blood from his hands.

"He was a monster," she said simply. Her cheek was still red from Ed's slap. A bruise had blossomed on the side of her neck.

_He widowed this woman._

Fear finally overtaking her, Sophia abandoned her mother and rushed to their pile of hay and goods. Carol clenched her now empty hand into a fist and blinked at him. His resolve cracked further. There was nothing like a debt unpaid to strap him down. Blood was the ultimate debt; it's what kept him tied to Merle for so long.

_"And I left him in Atlanta."_

Daryl shook the thought away.

"Keep yer gun," he said finally and handed it back to her. She'd been nothing but kind to him, giving him medicine, sharing those small smiles. It was a mistake to be sure. He wasn't worth it.

"What?" It was the first time she faltered.

"I don't need it." His rebuke snapped in time with his wrist as he extended a hand. "I'll...I'll help ya out."

This was a deal, an agreement with terms. That kind of relationship he could wrap his head around. After all, he wasn't a hero, he wasn't doing this because he was nice. He killed her husband, the least he could do was keep them alive. At the very least, it was something to anchor himself to as he rode out this end of the world chaos. 

Her hand was slim and fit perfectly in his. 

"Thank you!" She whispered harshly. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she curled her fingers around his in a vice.

Daryl grunted and broke the contact. "Name's Daryl Dixon."

"Carol Peletier. And my daughter is Sophia."

Static crackled. Daryl finally located the speaker tucked into the upper corner of the car. 

_"We'll be arriving soon at our destination, folks. Better make any preparations and get ready to disembark."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird to me to go back to a time in TWD when killing a person still bothered the characters. I hope Daryl's actions and consequences made sense. On the plus side, Ed is gone from Carol's life!
> 
> Thanks for reading. Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	4. Better Off than Dead

Three horn blasts went off like fireworks, sudden and ear-splitting. The speaker hissed and then said, _"We've made it."_

Daryl uncovered his ears and winced at the ringing left in the horns wake. He peeked through a hole in the boxcar. The train was going too fast to see more than blurs of color. At the sound of the screeching brakes, he grabbed a hand hold and swayed with the slowing train. Once it reached a consistent, easy speed Daryl opened the door.

Fields of gold and green stretched from one horizon to the next. Skinny trees and a few scattered houses broke up the flat expanse. Daryl hung out the car and swung his head to the right.

That must be it.

The roundhouse was a monstrous red brick building. Ten train docks circled the roundtable. The back half of the structure rose up behind the front, two maybe even three stories. From what he could tell most of the property was surrounded by a tall chain link fence.

When the radio had crackled on in his hotel room and promised an escape by train, he hadn't given one thought to the destination. Now staring at this old locomotive complex, Daryl realized he had been expecting Washington D.C. or another city to be at the end of the ride. He allowed himself to grin; this exceeded anything he had envisioned.

An oasis of metal and brick in a desert of grass and trees.

Instead of taking the left fork that would have led them through a gate and to the roundtable, the train held its course. The wheels squeaked shrilly under the breaks and released loud hisses of steam. Daryl supported himself on the frame of the open door until the engine came to a complete stop.

_"End of the line, folks."_

Another engine rested on the turntable. How many other trainloads of people were here? Daryl squinted but all the roundhouse docks appeared empty. Just two trains, a bunch of boxcars, and whoever drove them out of Atlanta. 

People poked their heads out of the train cars. Some dropped down to the ground, heads swiveling in awe. 

"Pack up," Daryl snapped harsher than he intended as his heart beat faster. He threw all his belongings in his pack, checked his knife and slung his crossbow over his shoulder before jumping down.

A small crowd gathered to stare at the building. Some blinked in the sun while others peered over the bags pressed to their chests. A few brave folks had already pressed themselves against the fence gate.

"Hurry up," he growled.

"I'm right here."

Constantly living in fear of attack condensed people into brittle beings. He'd seen it in his Ma, a resilient woman who crumbled until she eventually went up in flames. Hell, he'd seen it in himself, drinking himself dumb and numb. Waiting for the end. The woman he met just days ago had been crushed by fear, crushed by her brute of a husband. Today, however, she looked soft and loose.

It took him second, but he determined it was hope that buoyed her.

Sophia climbed down, legs dangling and then young joints catching her fall. The gravel shifted under her footing, but she kept her balance. Carol took Daryl's offered hand. Suddenly embarrassed by ever thinking her weak, he ignored her gratitude.

"Over here!!" A man stood by the gate. He had a rifle on his shoulder and took his time adjusting a ball cap over his dark grey locks.

Daryl bristled with the thought he meant to send them off into the wilderness, but then the man spoke again.

"It's been a pleasure to be your conductor. Name's Kenny. If ya'll step this way, we'll get you registered." He swiftly unlocked the gate and pushed it open.

Carol shared a look with Daryl. The rest of the passengers shuffled back and forth like sheep caught between a stranger and a wolf. The unknown was the better bet, so they collectively lurched through the open gate. Daryl and Carol hand in hand with Sophia melded in with them, doing their best to look like a pack.

Tired, dehydrated, and hungry, it took most of the crowd longer than expected to trek to the building. Disbelief dragged at their feet. Only a few raced into the fenced yard like rabid dogs. Hovering near the back of the crowd, Daryl scrutinized each window, each train car in the yard, identifying places for hidden attackers. Carol clung to his left hip with her mouth parted. He swatted away her searching hand, but made sure to keep her and the girl close.

Navigating the ties and rails, they eventually entered the large building through an open train door. Tinted glass darkened the sunshine and illuminated the room in golden amber. Daryl craned his neck to take in the space. Besides the old rails, the entire area meant to house trains was open and spacious; someone at sometime had removed the walls dividing the train docks. A handful of people moved around the space, but the table in front of the crowd immediately drew his attention. 

Kenny wasn't a super imposing figure physically. Five-nine, maybe. Lean. But his tan skin highlighted the wiry muscles underneath, especially when he ran his hand over his chin before whistling.

"Hey! Welcome to Genesis Terminal. The world's shit outside so I'll expect ya'll to appreciate this for what it is."

He took a seat behind the table and shuffled some papers.

Daryl side-eyed the crowd. About half or more just looked like families. There were enough college kids to wonder how they all got stuck away from their families when the world ended. 

Two big men emerged from the back end of the building and flanked Kenny on either side of the table. They watched the crowd with hard eyes. A handful of Kenny's other people moved boxes in the back of the building. Daryl counted five people. The crowd from the train definitely outnumbered them. Considering the numbers, if this was a trap or some kind of scheme, Daryl would bet on the crowd.

Kenny cleared his throat. "To put it lightly, if this is the garden of Eden, I'm God. Follow my rules, you can stay as long as you like. If you want to leave, do so, but you don't get no help from me or mine."

The crowd was silent. Some stared into space, shaking, others glared, suspicious. Yet no one protested or asked any questions. Kenny placed tiny reading specks on his nose. The small accessory softened his face, but when he cleared his throat he commanded their attention. Whiplashed, it took Daryl a few words to recognize it as a list of rules.

"Whatever you brought, it is yours. Protect it, share it, consume it, that's up to you."

"General food supplies will be provided and that will include garden goods once that is established."

Here and there, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Someone nearby hissed, "Just how long does he expect to stay here?"

"Weapons are allowed. If you got beef with your neighbor, I don't care." Kenny paused to clear his throat again. "I provide the walls, the basic structure. I ain't a police officer. But I will take away yer room if I deem it necessary."

The man next to Daryl yelled, "How is this going to work?"

"Pardon?"

"I thought you were taking us to a city?!" The interrupter's voice rose rapidly. Over his balding head, Daryl watched as everyone's attention glued to him. He wasn't the only one with doubts, he was just the only one brave or stupid enough to speak out. "Some place safe. Like Washington DC."

Kenny sighed. "Cities aren't safe anymore. They're all crawling with the dead. Believe me, I've seen a too many to count. I got you out of the ants' nest and you want to jump to the wasps'?"

Daryl subtly shifted Carol and the girl away from the man. A quick shuffle of steps that could easily be interpreted as shifting weight. A few others did the same thing, forming a small, but visible ring of space around the questioning family.

The man gulped, but made no reply.

Kenny spat and went on like there had not been an interruption. "There's still some work to get this place up and running. Priorities are reinforcing the fence and cleanin' the roundhouse out." He glanced down his nose at the crowd. "First things first, rest up tonight. Tomorrow mornin', I'll divide you into groups and together we'll get this place livable. That's your payment to me for the ride out of Atlanta." He dropped his list and then waved the crowd forward. "For now, just come forward, say your name, your kin, and I'll assign you your space."

A hard life taught him to always keep his guard up. In a twist of fate, his life now included Carol and her girl. Daryl noticed things that probably would have gone unnoticed before. Like the tall man with a ripped plaid shirt who eyed Carol up and down. Daryl made a shield by placing himself between the man and Carol. There were five or so kids that were about Sophia's age. There was the old stuff too, like the familiar judgmental glares from a few mothers who wrapped arms around their kids. Who was twitchy with their gun. Who sported split knuckles.

The journey to get on the train hadn't been easy. Most people were in rough shape with mussed hair, baggy eyes, and scrapes as common as tattoos. He, Carol, and the girl blended in just fine in that regard. As if in response, every bruise on his body pulsed. 

The throng slowly molded into a line. It moved forward like a slug, yet any chaos was kept in check by one guard handing out granola bars as he walked up and down the line. Biceps thick like milk jugs and a height that let him tower over all helped too. He handed Carol two bars with a toothy smile that appeared genuine.

Daryl thought the man said his name was Rod.

The closer they inched toward Kenny, the easier it got to overhear the proceedings.

He wasn't just collecting their names. Kenny was also asking questions like "Name and occupation."

Some got asked, "Any skilled labor?"

What the kids' ages.

How everyone was related.

A single person was escorted to the back of the room.

A family went upstairs.

Another single person followed Rod to the back of the building.

A loud family of five clambered behind another man to the upstairs.

People were escorted to spaces beyond Daryl's sight with no verbal communication from Kenny as to why people go left, right, or straight. His skin prickled; how would they explain themselves? A wife, her child, and the man who killed her abusive husband?

His scowl deepened and his death grip tightened on his crossbow strap; single people were separated from families. That was the only consistent pattern. 

Fuck. They would be separated. 

Daryl frowned. What did it really matter? He didn't get the impression that they were being led to slaughter. A mother and her girl were surely worthy of a bedroom upstairs. He could go fuck off in the back room, no problem. Alone with his crossbow, alcohol, and guilt over Merle. Check in with Carol and the girl every day, just to see how they were holding up. The little knot of uncertainty unraveled in his gut. At the same time, he remembered Carol's hopeful attitude this morning, and a different knot of guilt twisted his stomach.

They were in front of Kenny before a workaround came to Daryl. Carol asserted herself to his right side and she placed Sophia in front of her.

"Names?" Kenny asked with a wild eyebrow quirked.

Carol beat him to the punch and said in an almost frighteningly chipper voice, "I'm Carol, this is Sophia, and this is my husband Daryl."

_Husband?_

If Kenny had looked up at the wrong moment, he would have seen Daryl's slack jaw. Instead, the leader of this odd place simply continued his list of questions. "Last name?"

"Dixon," Carol said.

_Dixon?_

A rock lodged itself in Daryl's throat.

Ever so subtly Carol elbowed him, knocking him out of his daze. His general awareness saved him as he muttered, "I can hunt. Done a little construction." He added the last part when Carol pressed her lips into a straight line.

"I'm a housewife," she said with Christmas level cheer.

The interrogation ended before he caught his breath and they were whisked upstairs by a man who briefly introduced himself as Rodney. Daryl did a complete double look; Rod gave them granola bars and looked like a classic steel mill worker in his overalls and steel toed books. Rodney, with dark skin and a kind set of eyes, took them upstairs.

The duplicate name bogged him down only for a moment.

_Husband?_

They followed Rodney up a metal staircase. From the walkway, Daryl could see the entire room below. There was another staircase at the opposite end of the room currently occupied by another family being led by one of Kenny's people. Rodney entered the first door upstairs which led them into a hallway. Here, it was difficult to make out the noise from downstairs. Rodney pointed casually at each door in the hallway before stopping at the fourth. He turned around and handed them a set of keys.

"Here you go." The big man then stomped away.

Up a staircase and into a hallway. They were nested away from the doors outside. Daryl frowned; unsure about escape routes and the other people here, they should be staying near an exit on the first floor. Kenny seemed to assign some kind of ranking to the rooms, so whatever he had thought about Daryl and Carol deemed them worthy of this over the floor, however.

"Well?" Carol asked, staring expectantly between him and their new home.

_Husband?_

He jabbed the key in the lock.

The door stuck slightly. With a strong shake, it gave way. They poked their heads in. File cabinets lined one wall. A desk and crates of paperwork took up much of the center of the room. Someone had recently thrown two mattresses on the floor. There was a storage closet in the left corner and three large windows overlooking the yard behind the building. One pane was cracked, the line of glass holding sunlight like a little bolt of lightning.

Satisfied that the room was safe, Daryl closed the front door. He immediately wheeled on Carol with a hissing rebuke. "What the fuck, we're _married_ now?"

She flinched, breaking her calm liars mask. "I-I didn't want to risk getting separated."

"You think I know anything about...how am I supposed..." He stormed from one wall to the other. Every bone in his body already ached and now a headache pummeled his brain. 

"I'm sorry, I panicked."

"No doubt you did. I said I'd keep you safe. I didn' swear till death do we part! Now we're going to hafta pretend in front of all these people."

"I promise it won't be too hard."

"Oh yeah?" He laughed bitterly. "What makes you think that? What makes you think I can be your doting husband?"

"Well, it's not like I had a doting husband before so I'm ready for whatever flavor of shitty husband you'll be," she hissed. Her stare pierced him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

His silence set her into motion.

Carol cleared a spot on the floor for Sophia and the larger of the two mattresses. The girl passed out the second her mother finished sweeping the hair from her face. The woman then busied herself picking up lose papers and wiping down the desk and window sills. She stiffly tidied in the sunset. 

Daryl turned away from her sniffling. Unsure what else to do and, unwilling to unpack the complexities of pretending to be married, he tested the front door again. He frowned at the lack of sight into the hallway. However, the door did shut flush in its frame.

He deemed it safe as long as they had the only key. That was to be determined. He leaned his forehead against the door. 

_"Should be Merle here with me."_

Carol tiptoed her way to him. She moved quietly but he heard her regardless, shuffling slightly on the dirt.

He licked his lips before glancing over his shoulder. "I'm sorry. Was a good idea to keep us together." He just barely waited for her nod of acknowledgement before jerking his chin at the door. "We'll put the cabinets against it tonight."

"What do you think of this place," she asked. A grey smudge marred her cheek. His fingers twitched, needing the smudge gone.

Daryl put space between them and went to move their safety net. "Better than Atlanta."

Saying it made his belly settle. They all would have died in Atlanta. Kenny could have dropped them off in the wilderness with nothing but their thumbs up their asses and it would have been a better chance than Atlanta. It was true that a lot of uncertainties remained. There could be maniacs living next door, given a room because they lied about being a doctor or some shit. There was the issue of the key. While Kenny seemed to have some kind of plan in place, the details were nonexistent.

But they had a door that locked. They had their weapons. _"And,"_ Daryl acknowledged, _"got each other."_

Whatever good that did them.

The sunset was glorious. Reds and yellows combined their best efforts into orange. The mystery of this place could not overpower exhaustion. Without another word, Carol curled up with her daughter. 

Daryl dragged the other mattress to an open spot on the floor. He watched the two of them, jealous of the peace. Without warning, Carol cracked open an eye. He quickly averted his gaze to the window. When the heat left his cheeks, he risked another look. This time, she was asleep.

But sleep did not embrace him. In fact, in the quiet his headache roared with new life as he digested his new situation. He left Merle in Atlanta and barely reached the train in time. He killed Ed. Now, Carol and her kid roped him into some kind of domestic agreement. 

_"Goddamnit. A husband?"_ He pinched the bridge of his nose. How the hell was he going to keep up that charade?

Daryl went to the window. Someone was moving the train out in the dark. The window under his forehead rattled with the movement. He heard crying from next door and shuffling beneath him. His skin crawled and the headache worsened; all these people he didn't know, couldn't trust, surrounded him. He made it out of Atlanta, but was he really better off?

_"Would've died in Atlanta."_

If he kept repeating that, perhaps it would sink in. 

The hangover had his temples in a vice grip. Sleep evaded him. He cursed under his breath, hate simmering under his skin but at no particular person or thing. He definitely hated his pounding pulse and dry mouth and the bruises on his body. Too slow. Too stupid. 

_"Can't do that no more."_

He grabbed his bag, checking to make sure Carol didn't wake when the bottles clinked together. Sure she was still asleep, he opened a window. There was nothing below but dirt and gravel. He swallowed. His fingers slid over the first bottle, almost like a caress. Then, Daryl popped the cork and watched his liquid crutch fall to the ground below.

Atlanta had been a death trap, but that did not mean he was safe just yet. Not with a wife and child tied to him.

If they were going to make it he'd need a clear head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


	5. Renegotiating Terms

_Knock, knock._

Daryl blinked his heavy eyelids. 

_Knock, knock.._

He kicked out defensively, not recognizing the room around him. He flipped over, ready to fight, and then froze. Carol and the girl stirred and that was enough context to ease his fight or flight instinct.

_Knock. Knock._

"Gimme a minute," he said. The cabinet screeched on the floor as Daryl nudged it away from the door. He winced at the sound and his muscles' aching struggle, but when he opened the door Rodney made no comment on their extra defense.

"Morning. Everyone's to meet downstairs."

Daryl nodded once and closed the door. Carol sat up while Sophia rubbed her eyes. Without exchanging a word they put on their shoes. Carol tucked a granola bar into Sophia's pocket. Daryl declined the offer; his stomach lurched at the thought of eating. While they got ready, he thought about grabbing his crossbow, but decided against it.

The voices outside rose from murmurs to conversations once they left their assigned room and again when they exited the hallway. While he didn't pick up any troubled undertones, Daryl tapped the knife at his hip while simultaneously missing his crossbow. He'd feel better about going into the crowd if someone had his back. Someone with a weapon. 

Daryl yanked Carol's elbow to keep her from joining the thickest part of the crowd.

She frowned, but halted. He blushed when he caught her rubbing the place he had grabbed her.

"Don' wanna be too far from an escape," he said, in an attempt to apologize and explain himself.

Her watery gaze focused on the crowd as she said, "Okay."

In the center of the room Kenny and Rodney stood on a raised platform. Kenny waved them together with another list in his hand. His five o'clock shadow was gone. At Rodney's whistle, the murmurs ceased.

"Mornin' folks," Kenny greeted. "Hope you slept well. Like I said before, can leave if ya want. Those who stay will be put to work. That starts today."

"The world ended!" Someone yelled from the middle of the crowd. "Why work? We should be--"

"Are ya deaf? I said ya can leave." Kenny's voice rose and the crowd split, revealing a middle-aged man with bags under his eyes.

Kenny shrugged. "Honestly, go. Ain't that many of those dead 'uns out there now. You'll fair okay I guess." As if an afterthought, he concluded, "I don't offer free board."

"Maybe I will!" The man insisted and then looked around for support.

"Mhmm, go ahead." Kenny coughed, disinterested. "For the rest of ya'll, I got work assignments."

Before anyone else could voice concern, Kenny began reading family names and their assigned tasks. The outspoken man disappeared into the crowd, apparently giving up the fight. For now. With a quick look, Daryl didn't immediately recognize the man from yesterday who had talked about the military either. Had he been killed for voicing dissent? Or did he leave in the night?

Daryl took another step back. To his surprise, Carol wordlessly copied his movement. She was a quick learner, he liked that. Selfishly, he also liked that she followed his advice without any sass. He straightened his pose a little. It felt good to have his knowledge recognized.

First thing was first, they had to get Genesis into what Kenny called livable condition. As Kenny said yesterday, reinforcing the wall was his priority. Most of the men were assigned to that task, Daryl included. Others would be cleaning the downstairs. A woman named Samantha was taking the kids to scrub the kitchen.

Task list complete, Kenny folded up his paper and yelled, "Get to it!"

Carol shooed Sophia toward the group of kids. The woman in charge of them didn't bat an eye at Daryl's hard glare. Carol's easy smile and laugh must have made up for his shortcomings. 

He grabbed Carol's wrist as the rest of the crowd dispersed.

"Keep an eye out, alright?" He loosened his grip as she nodded. People split around them. Chains ground against metal and the dock doors opened, flooding the room with sunlight. 

"You got it, Pookie." She beamed.

"Cut that out."

She laughed at his retort, gripping his arm slightly before sauntering away. 

An unwanted blush bloomed across his face until he realized she was simply playing her part of wife. His dumbass hadn't thought about the physical affection aspect of faking a marriage. Daryl bit his thumb as Carol disappeared into the back of the building. 

_"You agreed to it. Not like you never faked anything before."_

Like fear before getting in a bar fight, just to give himself a second of advantage.

Or concern over Merle's missing drugs.

He spat then walked out into the sun.

The sun broiled above. Despite the heat people were content with being told what to do. Along with a few other stragglers, Daryl passed a truck with a water buffalo. Smacking his lips, he realized he'd drank nothing but alcohol for the last few days. He stopped to grab a cup before trotting over to the fence.

Two large men, the one named Rod and the other Rodney, were patrolling the existing fences with crowbars, plunging them into the heads of the few dead. Under Kenny's guidance, the fence crew wasted no time getting started. A few men were down on their knees sorting sheet metal into piles. At the far end of the fence a group of people were laying brick along the roundhouse wall.

Kenny nodded at his arrival and then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the two men at his side. "These dead 'uns are triggered by sight. So ya'll are gonna attach these steel sheets to block the view. Double Rod and Neal up in our tower are going to keep the dead off you while ya'll put together the screen. Make it so it'll hold up long enough for the other crew to get that brick wall built."

"Why?" The speaker was a middle height man. Daryl recognized him as the outspoken one from earlier today. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and puffed up his chest.

"Pardon?"

"Isn't the army coming?" He gestured to the empty field.

Kenny kicked the toe of his boot into the dirt. "You don't listen, do you? Let's shoot straight, you and I. I don't think the army is coming. I also don't give a damn what you think is right. I gave you a lift out of Atlanta and so far you've done nothing to repay me. So either help with the fence or get out!" 

Rod and Rodney flexed their muscles. A well timed shot erupted through the air and a nearby corpse collapsed, its head a blob of goop. It was only then that Daryl noticed the guard tower near the fence gate. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end; it wouldn't take much to shoot any of them standing here. The rifleman, Neal, kept the gun pointed into the field, however.

Humbled, the man gulped and dropped his head.

Kenny shrugged. "No? Alright, the fence is yours." He then nodded at Double Rod and walked away.

"We got rope, zipties, and plenty of metal," Rod instructed while he palmed his crowbar. He wore a wide brimmed hat that would be ridiculed on anyone else except a man built like a barrel. "Kenny doesn't want the dead banging on the chain link fence for too long. So, it doesn't matter how it goes up, just as long as the dead can't see us."

His partner, Rodney, spoke up next. "If you think you need some other kind of material, we can make a run for it if we don't already have it stashed here. Rod and I will keep the dead away, you just cover the fence. Alright?"

As the group nodded, another gunshot echoed out from the guard tower. Heart in his throat, Daryl searched for the target, relaxing only when he saw the dead corpse out in the field. Without batting an eye, the two guards left them to patrol the fence. Their nonchalant dismissal broke the tension. A second passed until one man raised a hand and introduced himself.

"I'm Jonathan."

A second man, the outspoken one, followed his lead, lifting up his thick hand, "Mike."

They all formed a quick circle and shared names. In addition to Jonathan and Mike, there were three other men. Jules, a man with tan skin and a neatly trimmed beard. A tall, bespectacled man introduced himself as Vernon. Lastly, Paul, who proudly wore the title of PTA parent.

Daryl firmly, but briefly, shook all their hands, muttering his name once. The dirt under his finger nails clashed brightly with their smoother hands.

Jonathan, looking out of place in his golf polo, clapped his hands and said, "Well, let's get to it."

He dropped the coils of cord next to a post. Jules pulled a metal sheet from the pile and rested against the fence. They all cocked their heads at the puzzle.

Daryl whipped out his knife and cut a generous length of cord. While everyone looked on, he laced it through the fence and back at the approximate width of the metal. He figured they'd need two cords per sheet, one near the top, one near the bottom. As long as they used the larger pieces, it should be enough to keep the metal flush against the fence. By the time he had the sheet in place and a knot tied in the middle, the other men had picked up on the technique.

"Good idea," Jonathan said. He began cutting rope. "Never thought I'd be so happy at a train yard. I do miss my cubicle though."

"I was at a board meeting when it all started," Mike said as he lifted a new sheet. "It just flashed across the TV screen, New Unknown Disease. It didn't matter to me at the time, but now, now I know that was the beginning."

Other's joined in, hesitantly at first.

"My boss just told us to leave, has it really been a month? No explanation, no nothing. He stormed out of his office. It didn't really click until we turned on the TV. That was the day Baltimore went up in flames," Jules said with a shudder.

"My boss made us stay," Paul said. "Put the whole building on lockdown. I couldn't even pick up the kids from school."

The more they spoke, the more Daryl put into his work, strapping the metal sheets and hauling others over. He shifted further down the fence. He sure as hell wasn't going to share some sob story. He definitely wasn't going to tell them how Merle busted down their trailer door, cackling one second and then dead sober the next when he said, _It's our time Little Brother. The end of the world has come!_

Since the sheets were pretty uniform in width, he found the length of cord that worked best and set to cutting several lengths of it. Distancing himself from the other men had two results: it reduced his growing discomfort and he was mostly forgotten while the others bonded over stories. Piece by piece he moved down the fence toward the building.

"Woah man! You're making the rest of us look bad."

Daryl shook off the offending hand. They were all sweaty and staring at him. A quick comparison of progress validated the comment. He'd set up four sheets in the time the five of them had set up two.

"Ain't got time to wait for the dead." Daryl jerked his chin at the fence and they all gave the one lumbering corpse in the distance a quick gulp. Daryl pulled his knot tight. "Gotta finish it."

"That's what we were just talking about...some of us may leave." As if saying it solidified his decision, Mike threw down his cord. 

Jonathan picked up the discarded bit. "Make sure you talk it over with your wife."

"She'll agree." Mike chuckled weakly and said, "We need to find a hotel for her. She's already not digging the tiled floor. I wonder where--"

A bell rang and Kenny called from the door, "Lunch!"

Abandoning the fence and the discussion about leaving, they all followed Kenny's voice back to the roundhouse. Daryl's stomach grumbled loudly, finally giving in to the need for food.

In just a few hours cleaning crew had transformed the interior. Where there had been brown dust and metal shavings, there was now just clean concrete. Gravel kicked from the beds outside had been swept into piles. All the old safety signs warning workers of fall danger and electric shock reminded Daryl of shitty bars and their knickknack covered walls. It wasn't homey by any means, but it no longer felt too industrial for habitation. 

The long tables placed in the middle of the room added a lot to that effect. It wasn't far cry from a cafeteria. He caught a whiff of beef and potatoes and followed the scent to a large pot in the back of the room. There was already a long line. Samantha dished out servings into bowls. Daryl saw Rodney walk up to her and plant a kiss on her cheek.

Daryl was left standing in one of the open doorways as the men dispersed to their families. His stomach growled again as he scanned for Carol and the girl. He finally found her when she waved. The tension was back between his shoulder blades as he wiggled down next to her right smack in the middle of the bench. Sophia chatted quietly with another girl. Someone cried, but was comforted with a pat on the back by the person next to them.

Carol slid him a glass of water and an obligatory, "How'd it go?"

"Fine." After pausing he completed the charade, "You?"

"My arms are sore from washing!" A woman across the table laughed with Carol and the conversation ambled on.

The room buzzed as people chatted and giggled, most settling into some resemblance of normalcy. Daryl eyed the food and sipped his water constantly to occupy himself. The noise grated on his ears. His foot tapped rapidly, trying to expend nervous energy.

It only got worse once he finished the water and crunched the cup in his fist. He quickly picked up his stew bowl but before he could take a slurp, someone bumped him with a short "Sorry!"

Elbows grazed against his, hands brushed his arms as people shuffle back and forth. A few times he got a kick to the shins under the table and he glared at the possible offenders. The mute threat went unnoticed.

Too many people.

Too many people here with their loved ones.

And Merle...wasn't here.

He didn't belong here.

Daryl clenched his teeth, fisted his jeans, bent the fork. As sweat pooled between his shoulders, the defensive rage bubbled. Daryl darted from one smiling face to the next, seeking a target and simultaneously discarding.

It was the bump against his back that set him off. He shot up like rocket and shoved the offender.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

Only after he yelled did he realize it was just a teenage kid. The whole room went silent. Daryl ran. Whispers chased him the whole way up the stairs. Carol's pure voice pierced the cloud of concern, "He had a rough day. I'm so sorry. So sorry."

He slammed the hallway door shut and then stomped to his--their--room. Alone with his fists at his sides, his temper snapped. Daryl grabbed the nearest chair and tossed it across the room. The damn thing clattered but refused to break. He kicked it again and it rolled across the floor like a square wheel.

"Stupid."

Sophia's bedroll caught his eye, neatly rolled and stashed. Their meager belongings sorted and purposefully placed. And then there was his corner, a bag full of empty alcohol bottles and crossbow bolts. Dirty. Other. Drenched in sweat, Daryl stopped pacing. His arms hung limp at his sides. 

A tentative knock on the door and then Carol entered, solemn faced. 

"Don't fucking say anything."

"I brought you a bowl."

Daryl glared at the peace offering. He rubbed his face. The fleeting barrier gave him just enough time to compose himself and swallow the ball of embarrassment. The stew sloshed in the bowl as he grabbed it. Anger spent, hunger had returned in full force. It was barely warmer than room temperature, but he shoveled it into his mouth. 

Carol righted the chair and then eyed him carefully.

Outside, one walker rattled the fence outside. From here he could see the expanse of the yard and how little of the fence work had been completed. Daryl slurped down the last of the meal and turned from the threat. 

What was he doing here with these people? Their concern and fears, their office politics and family matters? What was he doing pretending to be a husband and a father?

"A bunch of people told Kenny they're leaving," Carol said, breaking the silence.

"So?"

"So. Should we?"

His legs twitched, urging him to run. Instead, he clenched the bowl and purposely looked anywhere except her. Persistent, she joined him at the window. Together they watched the walking corpse thrash outside. 

Leave? How could they? Carol was a petite little thing, her girl even skinnier. They'd be eaten alive if they left this place. They belonged behind these walls. He, on the other hand...

Down below, Rod swung his crowbar and made quick work of the dead thing trying to get in the fence. Daryl's fence mates from this morning shuffled after the large man, bellies full. Mike and Vernon was nowhere to be seen. Daryl's cheek protested, but he bit at it again, thinking. He wasn't an idiot like Mike, he knew how to survive in the wild. 

"You sure about this?" He said.

"What do you mean?"

He gestured between them and then to the room.

Her entire body compressed like she was trying to transform from dirt into a diamonds. It happened so seamlessly he knew she must have done this before. Steeling herself before the next hit, the next verbal punch. Then she tossed her head back and relaxed again, owning whatever she was about to do.

"Do you want sex?"

Daryl blanched. He tried not to notice the way her jeans clung to her thighs or the exposed v of skin below her throat. Carol waited expectantly. At that moment, her bra strap slipped down her shoulder. Blushing, Daryl buried his focus on his stew bowl and muttered, "What the fuck?"

"I don't think I have to remind you, but you killed my husband," she said evenly and then shrugged. Only then did she fix that errant strap. "I'm not going to lie and say there isn't a terrible part of me that's grateful for that. But..." Her steely resolve faltered. "I tried to pay you with the rifle and our supplies but you said no. So. Tell me. What do I have to give you to make you stay and keep us safe?"

He couldn't think of one thing this woman had that he wanted and he sure as hell wasn't going to take her up on her newest offer. The very idea of her throwing herself down, dutifully taking off her shirt and pants, just made him sick to his stomach. He had to set down the bowl, unfinished.

How desperate do you have to be to offer up your body to some asshole like him just for some feeling of safety? How scared do you have to be?

Posed there in the sun, she didn't look desperate or scared or even sad. Head high, brow curved, she looked determined. Just like she said, her predicament was his fault. A woman alone in a sea of strangers. Why would she trust him, also a stranger? 

_"By a streak of bad luck, you're all she's got."_

Suddenly an idea came to him, a possible end to their agreement. If safety was her concern, he could change that. She may be unable to defend herself now, but he could change that. Who knew how to survive better than him?

"How about I teach you to use a knife? Maybe take ya outside and work on some self defense?"

"How would this help?" She crossed her arms again, not defensively, but calculating. The movement hid the skin previously exposed by the opening of her shirt.

Daryl eased off the wall, comfortable now that they were back in familiar territory. "Easy. You learn to defend yourself, then you won't need me."

"So. You teach me how to fight and then you'd leave?"

He lifted one shoulder. "I'd do whatever the fuck I wanted. If we can make up being married, we can also make up a story about why you kicked me out."

It wouldn't be difficult. Her gruff, angry husband abandoning her in the middle of the night? Of course he did. What they wouldn't know is that he left her with the skills to protect herself. She'd be alright.

And he'd be alone.

That felt right.

Daryl bit at his thumb. Carol cocked her head slightly and said, "Alright. But, I will let you know when I feel ready. You don't get to do one lesson and then bail."

"For cryin' out loud, I ain't gonna half-ass it. Your life depends on it." An oddly sentimental way to put it, but it did matter to him. If he left her unprepared and she died, he might as well have murdered an entire family. He winced inwardly. "I better get back to the wall. Those assholes don't know what the hell they're doin'."

* * *

"You alright man? You gave us a scare at lunch." Jonathan handed Daryl a sheet of metal.

"Just a bad day," Daryl grumbled. He hadn't forgotten he'd made a scene, but he sure as hell wasn't willing to defend himself to these strangers. Thankfully, Jonathan just sighed as if he understood and let Daryl work.

They found a rhythm. The repetitive task felt good. Cut rope, dig ditch, place metal, tie knot. While the other men exchanged small talk, he just tried to not think about Carol standing there offering everything to get him to stay. He tried not to think about Merle screaming curses in the streets of Atlanta.

Cut. Dig. Place. Tie.

Cut. Dig. Place. Tie.

A commotion behind them interrupted the system and they all craned their necks to look at Kenny dragging a man from the roundhouse. 

"Now, I don't have too many rules." Kenny said. He pushed the man toward the fence. "There may come a time for relaxing, but it ain't now! Get back to work!"

The man shrugged off Kenny's hand and slouched his way to the fence. They all eyed him curiously. He was young, maybe in his mid twenties. A few tattoos peeked out from his shirt sleeves which he rolled up past his forearms. 

"That dude's a fuckin' asshole," he said by way of greeting.

Jonathan spoke first. "He's just asking us to work a bit."

The new guy shrugged again. Clearly disappointed that no one was jumping up to take his side, he caved. "Whatever. I'm Marcus and I guess I'm working the fence now."

"Welcome to the team," Jonathan said, beaming. He handed Marcus a shovel and explained their process.

Uninterested, Daryl returned to his systematic task. He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out the best way to teach Carol how to defend herself. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could stop pretending to be something he wasn't.


	6. Shots Fired

Heat rose in waves off of the tracks and the concrete. For safety reasons, Kenny started giving everyone a break during the hottest part of the day, that first hour after a noon lunch break. It was the perfect time for Daryl to enact his plan. As people trickled out of the lunch area destined for naps, reading, or other relaxation, Daryl tapped Carol on the shoulder.

"Come on. Gotta show you somethin'."

She stiffened but swiftly composed herself. "Let me take Sophia upstairs." 

Sophia shot a look between her mother and him as Carol threw her arm round her daughter. The two fell in with the stream of people headed to the second floor. Daryl scratched at his temple. It wasn't as if he'd forgotten about the girl, but he hadn't made any effort to talk to the kid either. For her part, Sophia mostly ignored him or silently eyed him from behind her doll.

_"Be the husband first. Figure out fatherhood later."_

Or, if he was lucky, he wouldn't have to play that role at all. 

If Carol picked up self defense as quickly as he hoped, he would be gone before anyone could ask why he never talked to his daughter. Merle used to say Daryl couldn't undress a mannequin with his shitty personal skills. Thankfully, he didn't need to know how to woo a woman to teach her how to use a knife. And wouldn't Carol want him gone sooner anyway? By the time Carol came back down stairs, he had nearly convinced himself this would be easy.

"Okay, what's up?"

He grunted and led her outside. He'd picked out a good spot this morning while working on the fence. There was a shady area around the corner of the building near the new brick wall. Since everyone was on break there would be plenty of room to move and fewer prying eyes in case he fucked up his husband charade.

The temperature dropped several degrees once they were out of the sun. Carol dabbed her forehead and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Daryl took out two knives and offered one to her, hilt first. "Gonna teach you how to defend yourself."

Carol stiffened. "That time, huh?" Her hand trembled as she took the weapon. 

Daryl showed her how he held his knife. "See? Gotta keep your grip strong."

She adjusted her fingers. Unsatisfied, he clamped his hands around hers. "Tight. Like ya actually want to live through this. So you can protect yer girl."

Up close he could count her freckles, a light dusting across her nose and cheeks brought on by her time in the sun. He doesn't remember noticing them before. Clearing his throat, Daryl backed away and planted his feet into a fighting position. 

"Can't second guess it. You gotta put all your strength behind the strike."

She copied him and they worked through a few motions. He did his best to correct her stance with direction rather than touch. She had a quiet grace about her and her balance was good. It shouldn't have been a big surprise; no doubt she spent a good amount of time dodging out of the way of her husband's grasp.

Once they were both glistening with sweat, Daryl said, "Alright, now ya can practice on a corpse."

"What? No!"

"Best way to learn," he said before stomping out of the roundhouse's shadow, expecting her to follow. Luckily, they didn't have to go far. Two walking corpses clawed at the fence nearby. Rodney was at the other end of the yard with his crowbar in the middle of his afternoon sweep. Daryl stabbed the taller corpse just as Carol trailed up behind him.

"Go for it." He jabbed his thumb at the dead thing. It was well on its way to collapsing, its deep eye sockets were soulless pits and its hair was nearly gone. 

Gulping, Carol approached the fence slowly, knuckles white around the knife. Her first strike was turned away by the chain link. The second struck off bone.

"Gonna have to get closer," he said and resisted the urge to push her forward.

She huffed, but inched to the fence, just out of reach of the skeletal fingers. The smell of the body hit her and she gagged. Carol looked to him for support or further encouragement. When he just crossed his arms, she sighed. Steeling herself, she struck the corpse through the eye socket. 

It was a lucky hit.

It dropped like a rag doll.

"I did it!" She beamed at him and then immediately vomited.

Daryl grimaced. He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and waited for her to collect herself. Once she stopped gagging, she wiped her mouth.

"Thank you."

He grunted. "It's only one corpse, but there will be more. The fence makes it easier. You can practice during breaks."

Carol absentmindedly rubbed her arm and nodded. "You'll be with me though, right? Until I get better at it."

"If that's whatcha want..."

"Yes, please." She copied him and cleaned her blade. "Don't tell me I'm good enough after one lesson to forgo supervision!" She chuckled lightly but it faded just as quickly as it came. Carol considered him and then said, "It feels like you're trying to get out of this."

"Said as much yesterday, didn't I?" He said hoarsely as he withered under her blue stare. 

"Daryl--"

"Look, I'm gonna fuck up eventually. You saw what happened yesterday. And when I fuck up, we get caught in the lie."

She exhaled through her nostrils. "This is hard for me too, but...don't you think you're making this extra difficult? Is it so hard to be around me? We have to be together sometimes or people will get suspicious."

"What the hell do you propose then?" He used the growling corpse behind him as a distraction and struck it down beautifully. "I ain't gonna swoop you up in...in some kind of..."

"Kiss?" She answered for him, clamping her hands to her hips.

He glared, embarrassment flushing across his cheeks.

Unfazed, she said, "How about this. At dinner I'll make sure I get an end seat. That way you're not cramped in the middle and we're all seen together as a family."

"Alright," he relented.

Taking his one worded answer as a noncommittal huff, she continued, "I guess I can just bring dinner up to you in the room if you really need to be alone. But..."

"Stop." He flushed brighter and busied himself with putting his knife away. "Ya don't hafta take care of me."

"No. I do," she insisted. "We're married, remember?"

Over her shoulder, he spied the wall crew emerging from the roundhouse. Break time was over. Daryl swallowed the lump that always precluded social interaction.

Before the men were within earshot Carol said, "Listen, I don't know when I'll feel comfortable enough with the knife to be on my own. There's still a lot about this place that keeps me on edge. But it'll help if I'm not worried about covering for you all the damn time." Carol drew her shoulders together, as if anticipating a fight, and then said, "Please."

Daryl bit the edge of his thumb just like her plea shredded his resolve. He nodded with a grunt. "Yeah, alright." Then, with great hesitation, he patted her shoulder and muttered, "Good work today," just as Jonathan and Paul waved hello.

* * *

Sleepless nights weren't unfamiliar to him.

As a kid he didn't have the luxury of running to his parents when he had a nightmare. On those sleepless nights he'd sit awake and think about the outdoors or flying through the stars. It wasn't restful but it was relaxing. Imagining other worlds took his mind off of the monster under the bed and down the hall. Sometimes he'd drift back asleep. Other times he went to school the next day with bags under his eyes, a sad sight for an elementary school kid.

The habit continued throughout his life. The moonless night Merle left for the army, he sat in the bed of his pickup truck and watched the end of his cigarette burn. One time, waking up after dreaming of his mom, he leaned back in a plastic chair on his porch while the rain poured down the metal roof.

Contemplating, listening, digesting.

He wasn't sleeping now, but it wasn't the starry sky he imagined or the great outdoors.

His busy mind mulled over Carol and the girl and harped on how shitty he'd been. Yelling and cussing like his Ma never taught him better, thinking of escape rather than how to solve the problem in front of him. There were a lot of excuses why, he knew them well. He'd been leaning on them his whole life.

 _Please,_ she had said.

_Please try to be decent._

Especially since her effort was plain as day. The little smiles she plastered on her face, the fake affection she threw at him. How tiring that must be. But right now she needed him and all she asked was that he didn't act like being in her presence was some kind of punishment.

It wasn't. 

Awake and staring at the empty bottles of alcohol, Daryl knew she had saved him from an endless, self-hating binge.

 _She_ was the one getting the short end of the stick here. The sooner she was rid of him, the better.

But before that could happen, he was going to help her out. 

_"In the mean time,"_ he scolded himself, _"try to be less of a dick."_

* * *

They went out in the morning before breakfast was served. And the morning after that, when the ground was sticky with dew. Carol would wave at Rodney and then pick out a corpse to practice her knife work on. If Rodney thought their morning routine was odd, he kept it to himself. Judging from his big wave and whistling, it was more likely that he appreciated the help. 

Daryl would give Carol guidance from a safe distance, close enough to jump in if something went wrong, but far enough to give her the room to swing.

By the third day, she'd developed an odd habit.

All her strikes became shockingly precise. Daryl squinted at the locked angle of her elbow and the curl of her upper lip. Again. Again. Same angle, same strike to the right side of the head. 

Daryl crossed his arms. When he demonstrated his strikes were more random and opportunistic. Left temple, right temple, eye socket. Whatever was within reach. He frowned as she hit her fourth target of the day in the exact same spot. Repetition was good; it was the very reason why he had her out here days after she'd stopped gagging over the smell, but the world didn't operate on a conveyor belt.

"You should practice different strikes," he said. She attacked another corpse with its face smashed up against the chain link. High, right side of the head. The body flopped to the ground.

"Carol!"

"What was that? Sorry. What am I doing wrong?" She visibly deflated.

He softened his voice. "You keep doing this." He mimicked her strike, eyeing her carefully. "You know ya ain't always going to be able to hit the same spot. Yer gonna hafta adapt to the situation."

She shook herself as if coming out of a daze. "You're right, you're right. I..." She sighed and then pointed to the side of her head. "I'm probably going to hell for this, but it's just Ed had a mole on his right temple. It's easier if I imagine it's him and that spot I'm aiming for," she finished quietly.

He scrutinized her, nearly laughed because he used to have similar thoughts about his father. Fleeting spikes of anger where he imagined shoving his attacker back against a wall, but the daydreams were never enough to spur him to action. He recognized a coping mechanism when he saw one; she wasn't as ready as he thought she might be. 

"Feels good, don' it?"

"Yes." She dipped her chin and let the hand still gripping the knife bump off the side of her thigh.

"Hey, I get it. Really, I do. But, try something different on that one."

She fidgeted. "Could you show me?"

He could talk her through it; she'd shown she took direction well. Left temple. Throat. Neck. Maybe a more challenging strike like the forehead so she could feel how thick the bone was there. Instead, he beckoned her to him; maybe practicing on a live human would help break this muscle memory tic.

"Put yer knife away. Give me your hand." He looped his fingers around her sweat-slick wrist. "You're gonna come against taller foes and get into trouble without a fence to lean on." He directed her hand to his right temple. "It's a good strike, but not always possible. See how yer stretching?"

He sure did, her body balanced on her toes, hovering close enough that her shirt brushed against his. It was impossible to miss the silver specks in her eyes. His blush was inevitable with the proximity, but he reminded himself this was a lesson and not some kind of dance. 

Undisturbed, Carol nodded her understanding, keeping her gaze locked onto his. He moved slowly and deliberately, having her mock hit both sides of his head and his eyes. At his left temple, her fingers flicked through his hair and the back of his neck burned.

"Forehead is a last ditch effort, it's difficult to puncture it. What's better is up through the throat, if ya got a long enough knife, anyway."

Later, he'd probably sit under the stars and shake his head at himself. Now, however, some unnamable force encouraged his movement, leading her fingers over his Adam's apple. The delicate touch against the soft skin there was at once teasing and curious. The sun sparkled in her searching eyes and hit the little beads of sweat on her lip. His chest constricted suddenly. Daryl swallowed and released her. He stepped back, leaving her hand hovering midair, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

"Try it out on those," he instructed behind the fringe of his hair.

The corpse let out a timely groan, drawing Carol's attention away from him. She punched her knife through the eye socket. 

"Good." 

The second one, she stabbed up through its throat, once, twice, before it dropped.

"You got it now."

She gave him a dazzling smile over her shoulder before cleaning her knife and stashing it in her sheath in one smooth motion. The comfort and ease she demonstrated knocked him back on his heels.

"Better watch out, I might get better than you!"

Her confident teasing was cut off by one of the large doors on the roundhouse slamming open. Someone staggered out into the sun. Kenny stalked after them, stiff and angry. 

"Come on," Daryl said, both confused by his disappointment and thankful for the distraction.

They jogged toward the commotion. As they reached the turntable Daryl recognized the person Kenny was following. It was that kid Marcus from the other day at the fence. Daryl hadn't seen him since then.

"Didn't I tell you, you have to work to stay here?" Kenny said. When the kid didn't answer, Kenny yelled again, "Didn't I?"

Marcus dodged Kenny, but tripped over a rail. He caught himself and threw a punch. Kenny stepped out of the way. Rodney abandoned his fence duty to trot over to his boss. Seeing the large man and knowing he was outnumbered, Marcus stopped fighting. 

Daryl flung out an arm in front of Carol as he skittered to a stop. He shook his head at her questioning look.

"Don't wanna get involved," he said.

"We can't help?"

Daryl snorted. "You wanna get between Rodney and Marcus?"

She gulped and shook her head.

"Come on, old man," Marcus said. "I'm just a night owl, I'll do the work at night!"

"That's not how it works here." Kenny crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Last chance. Do you have something to give to me?"

"What? No. Fuck you."

"Suit yerself."

Together, Kenny and Rodney made a wall, pushing the young man closer and closer to the gate. Just as Marcus shifted to run, Rodney grabbed him by the arm and twisted it around his back. The kid let out a yelp of pain.

Carol tugged on Daryl's hand and pointed at the guard tower. Neal had his rifle aimed at the confrontation, slowly trailing their progress through his scope. Daryl swallowed. They had been desperate to get on the train, curious and thankful when they arrived. Questions aside, Genesis had been fine, but they were about to see justice dispensed and it wasn't going to be by jury.

Rodney unlocked the gate and threw the squirming Marcus outside. He locked it before Marcus could get back onto his feet. 

The kid screamed, "Come on, let me in!"

Neal shot.

Carol screamed.

A cloud of dust puffed at Marcus's feet.

"Are you fucking crazy?" Marcus yelled once he had recovered. "At least let me get my stuff!"

"Fair's fair, kid. I think I'll keep it as payment."

Marcus yelped as another bullet hit the ground a mere two or three feet from where he stood. The kid danced out of the way, moving further and further from the fence and into the field. Kenny stood at the gate with his arms crossed. It only took a few more shots before Marcus just turned and ran into the field. Kenny watched like a sentry until Marcus disappeared over the horizon. The engineer then nodded once to Rodney and gestured at Neal. The sniper kept his scope aimed toward the field. Finished, Kenny walked back toward the roundhouse. 

Carol clutched Daryl's arm and pressed her body against his. He didn't have it in him to tell her to cut it out. Not while he chewed over what he just witnessed. What the fuck happened to make Kenny kick Marcus out? 

As if Daryl had spoken the question out loud, Kenny approached them and said, "Wasn't enough that the dumb kid was lazy. He's a thief too." He sighed as if it was a regrettable outcome. Maybe it truly was for him. "Alright!" Kenny yelled into the crowd that had gathered in the dining area. "Let's get back to work!"

The crowd stared at Kenny. Eyes like discs, mouths pressed into firm lines. Over the course of a few seconds their confusion evolved into fear. Some wrapped their arms around their bodies as if they were afraid they'd fall apart. No one moved, no one uttered anything louder than a whisper.

That was, until Jules shouted, "You can't...you can't!"

His outburst ignited the crowd. Just small shifts from one foot to the other, ready to flee, ready to fight. Flee or fight. Daryl copied the flex and release of the crowd, curling and uncurling his hand into a fist. He took one half step to place himself between Carol and the mass of people.

Kenny answered, "I can't?"

"It's a death trap out there and you just--!"

Kenny sucked in through his teeth. "Oh. I, ah, Marcus...you see...ah..."

Whispers grew to murmurs and the tension in the room thickened. Carol tugged at Daryl and the two of them moved from Kenny's shoulder into the building and along the wall. 

Daryl lowered his voice and said, "Over there."

Carol released his arm, subtly dipping her chin in acknowledgement. They approached the staircase. Daryl mentally counted the steps between them and Sophia and then estimated what it would take to get to the girl if this crowd turned into a mob. Carol stopped half way up the staircase while Daryl planted himself on the bottom rise.

Without a proper explanation, the crowd launched a verbal attack.

A woman's voice bellowed, "How could you!"

"What did he do to deserve that?"

Itchy fingers went for pistols. Others clenched their fists. Daryl's gut dropped. He waved Carol further up the stairs and then chased after her. They watched the scene unfold from the walkway. More people had emerged from their rooms to see what the commotion was about. Furious whispers filled in the stragglers. Furrowed brows morphed into terrified or angry frowns. Parents shoved their children back behind doors and into safety.

Just as the crowd rose to a crescendo, Rodney rushed into the room with his hands high. "Woah, woah, everyone! This wasn't some arbitrary decision!"

The crowd bobbed and Jonathan, in a tight peach polo, pushed his way to the front. "We demand answers!"

Standing tall, Rodney kept his body facing the crowd even as he urged, "Kenny, tell them why."

Rodney's booming voice snapped Kenny from his babbling daze. "I, ah, listen folks, listen." He held up his hands in defense. "I don't wanna kick people out."

"But you _did_!" Jonathan said, taking on the role of speaker. Jules and Paul shimmied their way next to him, evening out the sides, nodding their heads sternly.

"LISTEN," Rodney said with a hard glare at Jonathan, who returned it in kind.

Kenny adjusted his cap, smearing a bit of dirt on his forehead in the process. The motion seemed to give him strength. "That kid was, was lazy, which I said I ain't gonna tolerate! But he was also stealing meds. We don' have a lot of meds."

"Medicine?" Jules cried out before Jonathan could stop him.

"Uh, yes. Medicine. I didn't get a chance to tell everyone but Samantha's putting together a little pharmacy, so to speak, off of the kitchen."

"This is insane," Jules said, drawing his gun. "I'm not going to give him the chance to kick me out!"

Before he could get close to pulling the trigger, Jonathan put out an arm. "Everyone, quiet!"

To Daryl's surprise, the command worked.

Jonathan glared at Kenny. "What do you mean?"

"That kid took from me, took from the group!" Kenny said, frantically stepping back and readjusting his cap. He patted his pockets, found no weapon, and therefore took another verbal defense. "I ain't tolerating that."

Jonathan tightened his grip on a struggling Jules and the motion showed just how much broader he was than the older engineer. Still, Jonathan kept his voice even and carefully picked his words. "So this was purely a consequence of stealing?"

"Well, yes. Stealing medicine in these times is a grave offence to me. Nobody is out there making it anymore."

"So you're not just going to kick us all out if we piss you off?"

"No. Why would I do that? I'm one person. Double Rod makes three plus Sam and Neal. Five people...that's crazy. This place needs people, but rules are rules."

Jules wiggled out of Jonathan's grasp and smoothed his shirt with a sniff. The crowd behind him settled into a tense murmur as they digested Kenny's reasoning. 

Rodney clapped Kenny on the back, again spurring the older man into action, "So, I, shit. I see I caused quite the commotion. I guess...everyone can take the day off."

"Kenny, if I may." Jonathan stepped forward and placed a hand over his heart. "I think it would do us all some good if you laid out specific rules for this place."

Kenny was taken aback. "What do you think I did when I brought y'all here?"

"Something more concrete." Jonathan's voice picked up steam. People started bobbing their heads in agreement. Laura, Jonathan's wife, took her place at his side. The Atlanta train crowd came together as one entity with Jonathan standing as the head. "Because, now, I don't think any of us really want to be outside the walls. At the same time, there's more of us than you."

"Is that a threat?" 

"Just a fact," Jonathan said. "We all want to stay and help out, don't we?" At his raised voice, the crowd agreed with a roar. 

Daryl didn't miss the way Jonathan looked out the open door, as if checking on Neal the sniper. An indescribable shiver went up his spine as Jonathan molded the crowd. Daryl tried to sneak a glance with Carol, but she stood in rapt attention with the scene below. It only took a few sentences, but Jonathan backed the crowd away from rebellion to acceptance. He bargained for hard rules and Kenny had no choice but to agree with the mass of people rallying behind their new spokesman.

The power in the roundhouse shifted. For better or worse was to be determined. For now, the crowd cheered the decision and Jonathan declared Kenny would offer the new rules tomorrow morning. Unable to shake the disturbed itch creeping over his body, Daryl didn't stay to hear the rest of it. With a nod at Carol, he retreated to their room.

In between cheers, he heard Carol's soft footsteps follow behind him.

* * *

When Daryl had raced up those stairs behind Carol, his shoulders had pinched together in anticipation. He had been waiting for the sound of the first shot. Or the fleshy thud of a punch and the resulting groan. Where was the roar of the crowd calling for blood? Instead, Jonathan had managed to _talk_ his way out of a messy overthrow and, in the end, he might have made Genesis better.

As they got to their room, chased only by others also perplexed by the turn of events, he still expected the axe to drop. Where was the fighting? The wild anger had been sapped out the roundhouse entirely and left rallying hopefulness in its wake.

Sophia was at the door when they rushed into the room. She clutched her doll as Carol directed her toward the back window. Daryl locked the door behind him, fingers twitching.

"Mom? What's wrong?" The girl shook with fear.

"Nothing...for now," Carol replied evenly. 

Despite her mother's calm, the girl pressed. "What happened? I heard yelling downstairs."

"There was a big disagreement about how people are punished here." Carol took a long pause, words failing her. Eventually, after a shrug from Daryl, she said, "Someone got kicked out." 

"Are we going to get kicked out?"

"No. No," she said firmly, "Don't worry about that." Carol brushed the hair from her daughter's forehead and found a tiny smile. "I do need you to go in the bedroom and read for a bit. Daryl and I need to talk."

With another one of her questioning glances between the two adults, Sophia walked to the old closet and shut the door behind her. Despite the situation, Daryl smirked; the barrier was a farce. If Sophia was like any other kid, she'd overhear this supposed secret conversation. Their voices would surely carry. Daryl said as much.

"I know she'll listen through the door, but..." Carol waved the pretense away; better to keep up appearances. "What do we do?"

"I dunno."

"Do we leave?"

"I said I dunno." Daryl rubbed his face and pulled up a chair. His pulse pounded at his temple as he looked out the window.

This was a perfect excuse to leave; a leader who kicked people out of a safe haven according to his own whim? It was unstable at best. Daryl was overly familiar with the risk people represented. Carol was too. Option one was to pack their things and reduce that risk. But that wasn't the established plan. _He_ was the one who was supposed to leave, and risk the outside. Alone. 

"Where would we go? I don' even know where we are."

Carol parted her lips and then clamped them shut. "I hadn't thought about it, but I don't know either."

Wandering around blind was just as dangerous as it was stupid. 

"I ain't leaving without even knowing what direction the nearest town is. Especially since," he trailed off, remembering to temper his words and the anger usually laced within them. Oddly enough, it was easy to find a softer tone when looking at her. "Carol, you ain't ever stabbed anything not behind a fence. I ain't takin' ya out without knowin' where ta go."

"We need map then." She bit the tip of her finger and then glared at the old file cabinets as if they had been lying to her this entire time. "I can't believe I don't know where we are!"

The train took them out of Atlanta. It had been a safety line out of a shit storm and they had all taken it not knowing what was on the other end. For someone who seemed so sure before, Kenny's fragility was apparent now. The man could drive a train and that by default put him in charge. It didn't, however, grant him the ability to create a stable living situation. Turns out, he had some ideas about how to survive the end of the world, but they were really all in the same rocky boat together.

How would they survive the end of the world?

Was this the place to put down roots?

There were too many unknowns, starting with their geographical location.

Daryl said, "For now, all that matters is not gettin' kicked out."

"I agree." She tucked her fist under her chin. "At the same time, I think Kenny was truthful when he said he didn't want to kick people out. I mean, why go through all the trouble to bring us here? Wherever here is."

He grunted in agreement, please she wasn't ready to bail. Jonathan's speech must have tempered her fear. Which was good, he reasoned. Finding a map and getting out was solid backup plan, but he'd rather it just be him leaving. 

If he left at all. 

Daryl frowned, his certainty wavering. "Let's see how this plays out. As a backup, I'll...I'll try and find a map...for us."

"I'll ask around too." Carol uncrossed her arms and then said, "Alright Sophia, you can come out."

Daryl smirked at the girl's swift exit and how she tried to play coy. She must have seen his amusement, however. Sophia dropped the act nearly as well as her Mother replaced her masks. The similarity pricked something in Daryl's chest, flattening his grin.

"I know where they keep maps," Sophia said.

"You do?" Carol's eyes lit up. 

"Yeah, there's a room in the back. I saw it while helping clean before."

"Well, that's it then. That's where I'll look," Daryl said. At Carol's excitement he amended, "Gotta wait a few days though, don't wanna do anything that's suspicious right now."

"Soon then," Carol agreed. "In the mean time, we will see how this goes."

Daryl grunted. Hopefully this patience wouldn't come back to bite them in the ass.

"What should I do?" Sophia perched on a chair and swung her legs eagerly.

Daryl waved the kid to him. "Come 'ere. Yer gonna tell me where this map room is."


	7. Out of Necessity

The tension in the roundhouse lingered like a tight muscle knot; it refused to give way despite the heat and the downtime. People whispered behind hands and stayed out of Kenny's way. For his part, Kenny had become a ghost that prowled the back hallways and rooms. If Jonathan or Jules walked into the room, the older man scurried away. He must have been keeping busy, however. The pantry was stocked, thanks in part to Kenny completing runs on the train at night. 

Daryl laid low, biding his time until he could search for a map. One benefit of everyone sitting on edge was that few people paid attention to the quiet redneck. It look a little bit of pressure off from trying to act like a husband. Work at the fence was completed in near silence. If Kenny was walking on eggshells, the wall crew tiptoed on them. Jules had taken to glancing over his shoulder every time Rod or Rodney walked by as if anticipating a crowbar to his head. Some couldn't stop looking in Neal's direction as if they were just waiting to be picked off. The only one who remained unfazed was Jonathan. 

Neal never fired in their direction.

They never saw Marcus again.

That first night after the incident a group of twenty live corpses crowded the fence. If anyone was thinking about leaving the roundhouse, they abandoned their plans after seeing the pile of bodies. After all, there were walls here, there was food. People reasoned that Neal didn't shoot Marcus dead, he just scared him off. And Marcus stole medicine, after all!

At the end of the third day, Kenny, together with Double Rod and Jonathan, laid out concrete rules for living at Genesis. It was a repeat of the first day except Kenny no longer commanded the room. He was somehow diminished by the entire ordeal. He still wore those small glasses and read from a piece of paper. He also played with his hat constantly and looked up for approval after every other line. In the end, the group agreed to the new rules.

No stealing from the community banks; inventory would be taken daily.

No weapons allowed in the dining hall; you kept them in your room and holstered until you went outside.

Kenny promised to be more open about his plans. He then explained a rather impressive vision for Genesis, complete with a pharmacy, a first aid station, kitchen duty cycle, showers, and even a television room.

Daryl wasn't completely convinced this wouldn't all crumble, but the crowd bobbed their heads along with Jonathan and his slick grin. He'd won them over, ensuring calm. At the very least Daryl wouldn't have to worry about rushing Carol and the kid out of Genesis before they were ready. 

If it ever came to that.

Daryl did not search for a map just yet, not wanting to draw attention to himself during this tense time. Sneaking around could easily be interrupted as mischievous or worst, devious. Besides, he still had to hold up his end of the bargain. Therefore, he put all his spare effort into teaching her how to use a knife. 

Conveniently and somewhat disconcerting, there were more and more of the hungry dead clawing at the fence each morning. He and Carol had their work cut out for them. He didn't feel the need to lead her through movements to warm up anymore; she got enough practice being useful. If Rodney started at one end of the yard and they the other, they had the fence cleared by breakfast.

Carol massaged her sore arms and hands every night but she never complained. By the end of a week she could strike the dead through the fence just fine. Ever since that second lesson, his chest tightened a little in anticipation before they'd go out to practice. He put a ban on close quarter lessons, troubled by the way he kept thinking about the feeling of her fingers on his skin.

He didn't want to admit he was proud, but there wasn't another word for the warm satisfaction that flooded him each time she successfully struck down a corpse. He refused to name the different contentment he felt each time she smiled at him.

 _Don't get attached, Baby Brother._ Merle's voice always piped in before Daryl could fully return Carol's grin. _She don't like you. You're just a tool._

A shield, a guard. 

Not a hero, not someone worth liking. 

Theirs was a relationship of necessity.

Wasn't it?

* * *

Once evening rolled around and it had finally cooled, the dining area emptied. People retired to their rooms to collapse into their beds or went outside to lounge in the twilight. Just as the sun bled into an orange blaze, Daryl made his move. He'd seen most of the building already. The train docks that had become the dining hall, the offices upstairs where everyone slept. He'd even peeked into the kitchen on the side of the building a few times. But he'd never seen the back half of the first floor where Kenny and the others disappeared to at the end of each day.

Armed with Sophia's directions, that's where he set his sights on finding a map.

His brain was a jumble of decisions. Stay. Leave. Together. Alone. He'd been so sure just a few days ago but now he wasn't. He wasn't sure about a lot of things anymore. So, Daryl focused on this simple task: determine their location. Then, at least, he'd be prepared to make an informed decision.

They hadn't explicitly been banned from this area, but he'd never seen anyone except Kenny and his crew leave the train docks for the shadowy hallway. Daryl ducked down it after double checking that no one was around.

All the doors in the hallway were locked. Some had signs labeling them as Storage or Tool rooms. He pressed his ear to each door and skipped the ones he heard noises behind. Finally he found the silent and open door at the end of the hallway, just as Sophia described.

He could have laughed.

There were maps everywhere. Railroad maps for Pennsylvania and New York were plastered across the back wall. Kansas. Washington. Canada. Every state, every rail line, dating from the 1800s to the present. He flipped through a pile on a table, trying to eliminate some locations and deduce more likely candidates. How fast did trains travel? He thought it had been a three day ride from Atlanta, which would put them almost anywhere in the continental United States, but Kenny had also said something about detours...

It's all flat terrain outside, but the entirety of the Midwest looked like that from his knowledge. No mountains, only a little change in topography. None of the maps had marks or large circles indicating settlements. He squinted at the labels, but didn't find any locations called Genesis.

He let out a frustrated a huff.

A noise came from the hallway. He turned around, heart in his throat, ready to confront Kenny or Double Rod with only a half-assed explanation. After Marcus, the fear of punishment lingered like a long winter, chilling his bones. But it was Sophia and two other kids staring back at him.

"What's your Dad doing?" The young boy--Jules' kid, he thought--asked when no one moved or said anything.

Fuck.

He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable _He's not my Dad._

"I dunno," Sophia said with a shrug. With a twinkle in her eye she added, "He's just weird sometimes. Come on." She tucked her hair behind her ears and then skipped down the hallway. The two kids followed her.

Daryl let out his held breath, thankful Sophia inherited her mother's quick thinking. His relief tinted slightly when his ego retorted, _"She thinks I'm weird?"_

Daryl huffed at himself. Distracted, he shifted through another pile of maps, but came away empty handed. Why did Kenny have so many maps? He left the navigation room scratching his head and nearly collided with Jonathan.

"Sorry!" Jonathan righted himself. "Did you see the kids go by here? We're playing hide-and-seek."

Daryl pointed down the hallway. "They ran down there just a minute ago."

"Thanks! What are you up to?"

Daryl shrugged. "Just stretching my legs."

Jonathan glanced over his shoulder and into the map room. "Find anything good? They have a great collection in there."

"Not really." Out of options, he gambled next. If Jonathan knew where the map room was, it wasn't secret information. The surprising twist gave him pause. What else had he missed while wallowing around in the background? Daryl set that question aside. "Got curious, so I was tryin' ta figure out where we are."

"Huh. You know, I hadn't given it much thought. But--" He was cut off by the little boy from earlier taunting him with a raspberry from down the hallway. Jonathan playfully shook his fist and then clapped Daryl on the shoulder. "Excuse me, I have a very important mission. See you tomorrow!" He said by way of departure and jogged off.

Daryl frowned, already dreading the small talk waiting him tomorrow morning. How much longer could he hold up this charade? He'd been lucky so far. A husband and a father eventually had to act like one. It was a bit of a catch-22; he tried to stay away from everyone so he didn't give himself away, by doing so he looked like a recluse, a deadbeat, someone with something to hide.

Without a map, even if Carol made the decision to leave tomorrow, they would have no idea where to go.

Daryl ran a hand over his face and then set his jaw. 

_"It's fine,"_ he told himself. _"I'll be gone before I fuck it up."_ He immediately corrected himself, _"Rather,_ we'll _be gone."_

He spent the rest of the daylight trying to look unassuming while searching for another source of information. He moseyed around the back of the roundhouse, poked his head into open rooms while listening to the kids squeal with glee during their game. Residual whiffs of buttery mashed potatoes floated out of the kitchen. He posted up outside, craving a cigarette. From there he could hear Sam cleaning a large pot and humming to herself.

The big industrial building kept a close hand. He collapsed onto his mattress stumped and strangely perplexed as to why this setback didn't upset him. He was contemplating that when Carol came in with Sophia close behind. The girl cheekily grinned at him and then dashed into her room.

"Found the map room," he said.

Carol paused her evening tidying. "And?"

"It's a bust. There's just maps everywhere."

"Oh...that's strange. Well, I haven't been able to get an exact location either. Everyone I talked to only had guesses."

"Midwest?" Daryl offered his current theory. A funny tightness took over his stomach. They were definitely not in Georgia. Definitely a foreign place. Definitely far from home.

Carol nodded. "But no one's even sure which state we're in."

"I guess we still got work ta do, then."

"Yeah, I guess we do." Her cheeks dimpled and Daryl caught himself returning the expression.

* * *

The next day, Laura waddled out into the yard with Carol right on her hip. Both women held a water jug between her hands. Daryl smirked at Carol's hair sticking out from her head like a porcupine's spines. Then, seeing Jonathan dash toward Laura, he scowled and rushed out to meet Carol, taking the jug in one hand only half a second after Jonathan took the one from his wife.

"Thanks." Carol produced a stack of cups from her back pocket and handed them out to the men.

"Thank you...Carol, right?" Jonathan inclined his head.

"Yes and you're welcome."

The men sipped the water appreciatively as the women admired the fence. The sunlight glimmered off the metal sheets. 

"We're nearly done," Jonathan said after starting his second cup. He pointed his pinky at a stack of railroad ties. "Then we can start the guard tower."

"I hope they can finish the brick wall soon," Carol said. They all assessed the group setting brick and mortar. Progress had been made, but at their current pace, it would take a long time to wall off the entire yard.

"I'm just glad we can't see the dead anymore!" Laura said. Wrinkling her nose did nothing to hide the fearful glance she cast at the gap in the metal sheeting. "Well, almost."

Jonathan kissed her cheek. "Better let us get back to it then, ladies."

Carol and Laura took the unused cups and the empty jugs. Waving, they walked over to the crew building the brick wall.

Jonathan dropped his hand and sighed. Hands on his hips, he turned to Daryl and asked, "How's she holding up?"

It took him a second to realize Jonathan was asking about Carol. "Fine, I suppose."

"That's good, that's good." He sighed wistfully. "This whole thing is hard. Laura's been crying every night since we got here." He scratched his ear and sighed again. "I know Laura's really appreciated Carol's quick friendship. You got a good woman!"

Daryl nodded.

"I'm glad to hear she's holding up well, though. Especially after the whole mess with Marcus." Jonathan shuddered dramatically.

Thinking of Ed, Daryl winced. "Yeah, well, Carol's seen worse."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, Atlanta was bad, ya know?" Daryl licked his lips just long enough for a lie to form. "She watched some poor asshole get torn apart right in front of 'er."

"Oh." 

There wasn't much else to say about the carnage they all witnessed on their way here. No doubt Carol saw plenty like he described, but Daryl mentally reminded himself he'd need to fill her in on the back story. Just in case. 

After an appropriate amount of time had passed, Jonathan asked, "How long have you two been married? You are married right? I don't see a ring, but..."

Daryl cursed himself, but garbled together a quick response, "Lost it escaping Atlanta." Daryl rubbed his ring finger to hide the lack of a mark.

Jonathan murmured sympathy. "At least you made it. But yeah, how long have you been married?"

Daryl did a quick mental calculation, figuring in Sophia's age and said, "Thirteen years."

"Nice. Did you live in Atlanta? Nice. A little easier to catch the train then? Who would have thought our greatest cities would be the worst dangers when the world fell."

Jonathan picked up the next sheet of metal. Daryl caught the sagging corner. They dropped the metal into the dusty ditch.

"Laura and I met at work," he said without prompting. Daryl toed at the edge of the sheet while Jonathan unbuttoned the top of his shirt and fanned his neck. "We always talked about moving to Atlanta. All the restaurants and culture, you know."

"Right." Daryl kept his focus on the work. Knots, metal, digging. Jonathan's chumminess unleashed a pool of sweat between his shoulder blades. Thankfully he was saved not too long after they had secured their second metal sheet.

Kenny's unexpected approach nipped all conversations in the bud. He didn't say anything as they worked. No criticism, no commentary. The back of Daryl's neck itched under Kenny's steady gaze. 

Eventually, Kenny said in his low drawl, "Daryl, right? Got a favor to ask."

Daryl drew the handkerchief from his back pocket and tried to wipe his hands nonchalantly. "Shoot."

Kenny wandered a few steps away from the work area. Daryl joined him and his neck sweated again with the added heat from Jonathan's and the others' stares. The sounds of metal pieces sliding off the pile and thumping into place continued, but at a slower pace. They weren't doing a good job hiding that they were trying to eavesdrop.

If Kenny was privy to the spying, he gave no indication besides walking out of earshot. Once there, Kenny raised a tan, crooked finger. "There's an old town about a mile and a half from here. I'm looking for someone to go there tomorrah."

It was phrased like a request, but somehow it didn't come off as one. Maybe it was the solo summoning, or the way Kenny's green eyes demanded compliance. Or begged compliance. Daryl wasn't sure anymore.

Regardless, he was intrigued. A day without fence work was as tempting as his alcoholic haze had been. Something to take the edge off. He squinted at the horizon. "What do you need?"

"I need hoses. Two inches." He made a circle with his fingers. "And some hardware. I got a list." 

Daryl took the scrap of paper Kenny dug out of his pocket. Clamps, glue, sealant, and a few other items were listed in a neat scroll.

"Alright."

"Aren'tcha gonna ask about yer payment?"

"Payment?" 

Kenny followed Daryl's gaze toward the fence crew. He swatted his wrist in the air. "This kind of job is exponentially more dangerous than slappin' some metal on a fence, so you deserve something in return." He raised a wild eyebrow. "Fair?"

Daryl took the bait. "What do I get?"

The lines on Kenny's face relaxed. "Smokes. I got some beer. And I'll throw in some bracelets for yer girl."

Without a reason to say no, Daryl accepted. After a handshake he asked, "What do ya need hoses for?"

"Pumping water. Those water buffalos ain't gonna last forever." He paused to adjust his cap. "And, well, I better deliver on that shower stall idea or the women will have my head." 

Daryl would have laughed at the light joke, but Kenny turned away and spat. Instead, he complimented the idea. "Smart."

"Necessary," Kenny countered and then said, "So, we got a deal?"

"Yeah, I'll go."

"Just bring it all to me when you get back tomorrah." Kenny thanked him and then wandered back to the roundhouse, squaring his shoulders and ignoring the group at the fence. 

Daryl made a show of rereading the list while the fence crew finished stacking wall supplies. They trickled toward the roundhouse for dinner. If they had any questions, they kept them to themselves. Daryl pocketed Kenny's list.

It took him a few steps to realize it, but the feeling struck him like a slap. He couldn't wait to get outside the walls. He snorted at himself. A few weeks of safety and he was already sick of it. Between the close quarters, the lie, the dead walking, each day was a puzzle and if he slotted the piece wrong he'd put himself in danger. Going on this mission felt like the right piece, however. Fostering favor with the man who saved them all might come in handy later.

_"And, I might be able to figure out where the hell we are."_

That positivity washed away any anxiety left by Jonathan's questioning. He also breezed over the other question that came to mind: why send him when Kenny could send Rod or Rodney? Was Kenny trying to build relationships? If so, sending someone out of safety was a weird way to accomplish that. At the same time, here he was, excited to take on the task. Maybe Kenny was better at reading people than Daryl gave him credit for.

He didn't bother to stop in the dining hall as Carol would bring him a plate. It was an easy pattern to follow; if he didn't show up at dinner, she'd come upstairs with his food. Lukewarm, but food nonetheless. Instead, he began crafting a mental list of items he'd need for the trip tomorrow.

His fingers itched to hold his crossbow.

To his surprise, Carol and Sophia were already in the room when he got there. The change in routine put him on edge. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just thought we could have dinner together up here. It's spaghetti today," she said cheerfully. She'd moved a desk into the middle of the room, completing the dinner set with napkins and silverware. Her and the girl beamed up at him.

Daryl rolled a sore shoulder and pulled out a chair. With a gruff thanks he started gobbling up food. Across from him Carol twirled a spoon in her bowl, looking pretty in the sunlight. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sophia's stifled snicker at his messy technique. He'd be embarrassed, but damn it, if the girl didn't copy him, and now sported a smear of pasta sauce on her cheek.

He snorted; they were really looking like some kind of family. Then he frowned, remembering Jonathan's inquires from earlier.

"How was the rest of your day?" Carol asked, breaking the silence.

"Ah. We got somethin' ta talk about." He wiped away a stray tomato with the back of his finger and then sucked it clean. Ignoring Carol's disapproving blink he said, "Jonathan asked me how we met, how long we'd been married." He kept his voice low, still unsure how well the walls were insulated.

Her eyes widened and changed to hazel in the golden sun light. "What did you tell him?"

"Gave some bullshit answer about Atlanta." He glanced at Sophia, adding, "And I guessed thirteen years."

"Okay. Okay." She patted her thighs while focusing on the ceiling. "We will work off that then." Carol got up and grabbed a notebook. Her pasta cooled while she started jotting down notes. "We should keep it simple, as close to the truth as possible."

"Make sure you're payin' attention too, kid." Daryl slurped up another noodle with a nod at Sophia. She had passed the first test the night he went searching for a map, but it highlighted the fragility of their situation. They should have done this from the very beginning. It was some kind of miracle nobody had asked enough questions. Daryl swallowed and then scolded himself; no doubt they had and Carol had just skillfully answered without giving any concrete answers.

"I'm not stupid," Sophia insisted. She straightened herself in her chair.

"He's not saying you are, sweetie." She handed him a sheet with a short list of details. Where they met, occupations. Neighborhood. Names of immediate family members. Most of it was the answers they had given Kenny. "It's pretty easy, I think. We already said our occupations. If it's okay with you, we can just say we lived in our neighborhood 'Prairie Hill.'"

"Fine." He wasn't going to disclose the name of the trailer park he and Merle had called home.

"Do you think we need anything else?"

He looked over the list of facts. They painted a basic, but complete plan of their fake life together. "Nah. Good enough."

Even as Carol sat down in front of her bowl again, she continued sketching. "If other stuff comes up we can record it in here and talk about it over dinner."

"Fine."

With a noodle halfway down his chin he said, "Also, I'm goin' on a run tomorrow for Kenny." 

"Wh--what?" That pretty little blush on her cheeks faded as she dropped her pen. It rolled under Daryl's foot.

"Kenny's sending me on an errand," he repeated hoarsely, wary of the high pitched fear that had crept into her voice. 

"To where?"

"There's a ghost town a mile or so away. He needs supplies for water pumps."

"You're leaving?" Sophia abandoned her meal and sent her spoon clattering across the table.

"With all the dead outside? That's dangerous! You aren't actually going are you?"

Daryl went back and forth between mother and daughter. Sophia frowned and Carol waited for him to recant. Instead he growled, "You think I can say no? He threw a guy out for...What are you cryin' for?" The heat left his words but the exasperation did not.

"I just...I guess you can't say no." Carol wiped her cheeks and turned from him. "Are you going alone?"

Sophia cast a pinched grimace at him and clamped her arms around her body, shattering the picture perfect family scene from moments before. 

_Tsk, Darylina. It's a farce, remember?_

"Yeah, it'll be better if I'm alone," he said, the words thick and weighty in his mouth. For something he'd been telling himself for weeks, it was difficult to say out loud. Overwhelmed with the need to run, Daryl stood with his dinner bowl.

"How long will you be gone?"

He inhaled sharply before spinning around to face her. He sliced the air with his hand as if he could cut off her worry and its invisible rope tugging on his chest.

"Listen. Ya don't hafta pretend ta worry about me. " 

"I'm not--"

"Ya don't hafta," he insisted, blocking out the hurt in Carol's voice. 

"Daryl!"

He stormed out of the room with his half-eaten bowl, uncomfortable and desperate to escape her concern and the girl's disappointment. 

In his haste he bumped into Laura, eyes wide and dewy, who asked, "Is--is everything alright?"

"Fine," he growled and pushed past her. As he stomped down the stairs he heard Laura call out to Carol. He sped up.

By now, the dining area had mostly emptied. He threw down the bowl into a wash bin and then stalked off behind the building. Even outside with the wind rushing through the field and the hazy sunset, he couldn't escape her voice in his head or the image of her crying. It sapped any residual excitement and turned it into shame.

"Goddamn it," he muttered, turning back to the building and then, just as quickly, abandoning the idea of returning to their room. He'd have to eventually if he wanted his crossbow. And, if he wanted to apologize.

Daryl threw his back against the brick wall. He patted his pocket and sulked when he didn't find a cigarette. All this difficulty will be worth it once he had those cigarettes tomorrow, but he didn't think the bracelets would be enough to win Carol and Sophia's favor back.

_She's just worried 'cause without you, she's a dead woman._

Daryl bit his lip. Merle's taunts weren't nearly as convincing as they once were. And what if it was true, if Carol actually cared about him? That would mean--

_Stop right there, Baby Brother. No sense entertaining the impossible._

But...

 _Stop._ The internal voice hit back harder, like thunder, a punch, and a stab all at once. _Ain't nobody ever gonna care about you._

He flinched as if someone threw physical blows at him. Eventually, the barrage stopped and all he could hear were the faint moans of the dead and the wind rushing through the field. He exhaled weakly and watched the sunset until the sky darkened to purple. Daryl then peeled himself off the wall, intent on finding some place to crash for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop me a comment if you are so inclined.


	8. I Can't Lose You

At first light, Daryl woke up with a nasty ache in his back and a dry mouth. 

_"Serves ya right for sleeping in a closet,"_ he thought as he rubbed the stiff muscles. He dislodged himself from the broom tangled between his legs. He took his time stretching, knowing in the back of his mind that he was procrastinating. He needed to grab his crossbow and bag for the run today. In his haste last night, he had left them in the room with Carol and Sophia. Then, like a coward, he hadn't returned. His back cracked loudly with a final stretch. Daryl ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame the wild wisps.

With the sky brightening and him out of muscles to stretch, he walked down the quiet hallway to their room. Daryl tapped his thigh, then with a heavy sigh, he unlocked the door. His crossbow and bag waited right where he had left them, tucked in his corner of the main room. As he slung them over his shoulders, he chewed his cheek and listened.

No one stirred. He risked a glance at the side room where Carol and Sophia slept. Like on most nights, the door was shut. He took one step toward the closet with the intent of knocking and briefly wondered if Carol would still get up without him and walk the fence.

In the next second he shook his head furiously, spun around on his heel, and left the room.

He stalked down the hallway faster than he normally would and the metal walkway answered in kind, his steps hollow and echoing. The noise attracted the attention of the few people milling around the dining area; Sam was spreading out tablecloths. Jonathan looked up from a book. He gave Daryl a curious look, but Daryl headed straight for the one train door Kenny leaned against.

"You still good to go?" Kenny crossed his arms.

"Yeah. Definitely." 

"Perfect. Neal knows yer leaving, so he'll let you out. One more thing. The town is abandoned, but keep an eye out for the dead 'uns, alright? Also, feel free to grab anything useful ya find. Maybe we can trade when you get back, huh?" He jerked his head outside and then said, "Happy hunting."

"Thanks."

Kenny pushed open the large wooden door and pale light flooded in. Daryl gave the metal staircase one last glance before stepping outside. The air was as stagnant as the closet's he had slept in and Daryl coughed. 

As he passed the guard tower, Neal popped a hand over the edge in acknowledgement. "I'll be down in a minute," he said.

Daryl toed the dirt by the gate. It still didn't make much sense to him. Why send him out when any of Kenny's men were perfectly capable? Daryl had witnessed both Rod and Rodney leaving on the train, tugging one lone boxcar and then returning later with brick and other supplies.

Perhaps a hose errand was beneath them.

To Daryl's surprise Jonathan hustled out of the roundhouse. He was huffing by the time he reached Daryl. "Where are you going?" he asked with a breath between each word. 

"Kenny's got a run for me to make."

"Oh. So, is that what he wanted yesterday?" Jonathan rubbed his chin. He indicated the guard tower and lowered his voice, "Is everything alright? Are you in trouble? Do you need me to say something to Kenny?"

"Nah. It's not like that. I'm good."

"You sure? Laura said you seemed upset last night and..."

Daryl bristled. "Kenny's paying me ta do this."

"Paying?"

"Yeah." Daryl felt his shoulders straighten, just an inch.

Jonathan pressed, "With what?"

"Beer. Smokes...some bracelets for my...my daughter."

If Jonathan heard his hesitation, he made nothing of it. "Beer huh?" He visibly brightened. Bending to his side, he surveyed the field beyond Daryl. After a second's calculation he asked, "Do you need a second?"

"I'm good," Daryl blurted. "And, well, they need you at the fence, right?"

Jonathan's crestfallen face brightened back into a beaming grin. "Yeah, we both know Jules isn't going to keep them on task!"

Neal sauntered up to them just as Jonathan's haughty laughter faded. He cocked an eyebrow at Jonathan but said nothing as he unlocked the gate.

Daryl nodded his farewell.

When he was far enough away he pulled out his last cigarette and lit it. He had found it this morning buried at the bottom of his bag. The nicotine distracted him from the knot in his shoulder and the unease that always came after interacting with Jonathan. This was the first time he had left the fence and he was determined to enjoy it. 

The path led him past the barrier around the roundhouse and into a field of wildflowers, itchy grasses, and shrubs. He glanced back at the building, now hazy in the distance. Pride straightened his back an inch; of course Kenny would have him do this sort of task. He was the only hunter in a sea of teachers and secretaries.

_Feelin' pretty good up in Yankee Land, aren't ya brother?_

Guilt flamed across his face as Merle's voice slithered through his mind.

_Of course you would be a star among those pansies._

"I waited," he snarled under his breath before taking a long drag.

His worst fear bit back, _Not long enough._

Daryl stomped on the cigarette as if he could stomp out the worry that still ate at him. Had he waited long enough? Or was the train just a convenient deadline? He grit his teeth, willing his brother away.

Merle snickered.

After a time he picked up a deer trail that eventually changed into a gravel lined path leading to a small cluster of buildings. Dandelions and grasses poked through the stone. He reached the house Kenny described around midmorning. It couldn't have been abandoned long; the house was a crisp white with freshly painted blue highlights. The weeds and grass had gone to seed, but the vegetation lacked the wildness of a few years worth of abandonment. Daryl paused on the driveway to look for the dead or smears of blood. Finding none, he continued his task.

He found the hose hidden behind an untrimmed bush. It hissed and dribbled a little water when he unscrewed it. Daryl coiled the hose around his arm and then dropped it in the driveway. 

With a glance at the sun he said to himself, "Might as well look around."

He followed a stone walkway around the back of the house and stopped cold. A fresh mound of dirt, topped with a cross, interrupted the lawn. Rain had softened the pile, but grass had yet to try and take over. It was a little too fresh to just believe it had been abandoned. He doubled back and checked all of the windows, not wanting a bullet in his head just because he trespassed under orders. Like the yard, the house was neat, but dusty. There were no signs of habitation. Regardless, he kept an eye on the house's dark windows as he backed up to the garage. He ducked inside.

The outbuilding was surprisingly clean. It housed an old, pearl colored Cadillac. The shelves along the walls were all labeled in a neat script on Scotch tape. Paint. Tools. Gardening. Hardware. He lifted a tarp and found a motorcycle tucked behind the car. Daryl ran his hands over the handlebar. His chest tightened. 

Merle had made him lug his bike onto the bed of their pickup truck before they took off for Atlanta. As far as he knew, it was collecting dust in the hotel's parking garage.

_Ain't the only thing you left behind._

"Shut up, Merle," Daryl growled. He gathered the items on his list and rushed out of the garage. 

The front door of the house was locked, but the side door was not. He opted for the less visible option and eased his way into the kitchen. It was as if someone had put away their dishes from the night before and simply left. He found a handful of cans in the pantry and threw them in his bag.

While hands were busy, his mind kept going back that motorcycle. That, combined with the weight of the cans, put an idea in his head.

_"I could just leave now."_

He chewed his thumb nail as the idea took root. He'd seen the gasoline cans in the garage and a bike could go for a long time on just a few gallons. Then it would just be him, a bike, and the open road. Maybe he could find a way back to Atlanta, back to Merle.

The roundhouse would be fine without him. There were plenty of men to finish making the wall. Soon enough they would have running water. It would be as simple as him throwing the hose and supplies over the fence and disappearing into the night. 

Most importantly, Carol had made friends. She didn't need him, especially not when there were likable men like Jonathan around. Kenny was the kind of man who divided men and women along traditional gender roles; surely he would keep a woman abandoned by her jerk husband, especially if said husband had a hand in getting water to the roundhouse. 

She wouldn't have pretend to be married to an asshole.

He was halfway up the stairs when a prick in the back of his mind stopped him. What he had tried to forget flared back to life like a fire he thought he had put out only for it to burn stronger than before: Carol, last night, her face shining with tears, worry making her voice tremble.

Did she actually care about him?

_Don't be an idiot, baby brother._

Daryl grimaced. _"Naw, she's just worried about being alone. But she'd be alright."_

His heart thudded the more he thought about it. 

"It's easier this way. Better," he insisted. 

Him, alone. 

Her, unburdened by a fake husband, surrounded by friends. 

Sophia, finally freed from the burden of having a shitty father, fake or not. 

It was right.

It would be best for everyone.

He resumed gathering supplies. Can goods, matches, lighters. The house made it too easy. It was like a store where everything was free. In a trance he opened cabinets, raided closets, the urge to do what was _right_ and _best for everyone_ urging him to go faster.

_We'll go huntin' once you come get me._

Back to Atlanta. He still needed to find a map, but they couldn't be that far, right? Wherever he was he could surely get back to Atlanta on a bike. Find Merle and then a house in the woods with plenty of game. He could practically feel the breeze, hear the imaginary creek where he would fish and shoot deer. Never trip over another rail or half-ass a conversation with preppy assholes who would have sneered at him before the world fell apart.

Elbow deep in a closet, a flash of red caught his eye. He picked it up, ready to assess its use. The fabric flowed through his fingers. A feminine thing he'd never think twice about except he just imagined Carol twirling in a dress made out of it.

Startled, Daryl dropped the clothing and continued his tear through the closet. He grabbed a pair of boots that looked about his size and pocketed the extra shoelaces. The weird moment was nearly gone, the fire tamped back into submission, when he came across a sweater. 

Again a little idea, _"Carol might like this."_

Then, running a hand over small sneakers, he absentmindedly decided, _"The girl's gonna need new shoes."_

He backed out of the closet. Chest heaving, he looked around for some useful item. Anything for _him_. There was a knife on the nightstand. He made an instant assessment, _"It's small enough for her."_

Daryl bit his lip. 

_"I could leave 'em. There's that bike."_

He flipped the knife over in his hand.

_"They'd be fine."_

Once. Twice. He flicked the blade out, judged the edge sharp and the handle sturdy.

 _"I_ should _leave 'em."_

He threw the small weapon in his bag and went to the nearest window. Just over the horizon he thought he could make out the hazy form of the roundhouse. There, Carol would be washing laundry or helping with food preparation. Sophia was definitely off playing with the other kids, avoiding chores as she should.

He smirked at the thought and then cursed, "Shit."

Ain't nobody ever needed him, got what they wanted, and then kept him around. Nobody. None of his blood. None of his so-called friends. And yet, here he was, with his bag full of items for Carol and Sophia, fantasizing about their daily activities at the roundhouse, as if they wouldn't do the same. Wouldn't they?

"Nah," he declared. "They won't."

_What about me, baby brother?_

Daryl winced at the sneer and it shook him out of his daze. He wandered back downstairs into the kitchen. Daryl glanced down at a pile of mail. His pulse raced as he flipped over a sealed envelope and read the address.

_Nebraska._

He'd never left Georgia before and now he was all the way in _fucking_ Nebraska. The distance was so large it was also meaningless. 

But surely he could still make that trip on the bike?

Daryl slammed the envelope on the counter. "And go back to what? Merle's dead, you piece of shit. Just admit it," he yelled at himself. Saying it out loud was as good as staring at a gravestone. It drew up a sob. 

His brother left him in a hotel and died somewhere. Maybe Merle got shot. Maybe he got lost and then torn apart by the walking dead. The how didn't matter. In the end, there was only one truth; his brother was dead and there was no one to go home to. Somewhere in his gut he'd known that this entire time, but accepting the loss seared him.

Daryl picked through the kitchen with wet cheeks. He mindlessly searched drawers, finally letting himself mourn the brother who left _him_ behind. Another sob rattled up his throat. He grabbed the countertop for support and cried.

After a long while, his tears ceased. He cleaned his face, sniffling once. Then, Daryl set his jaw and left for the roundhouse, but not before grabbing the red fabric and that small pair of shoes. 

* * *

The field of golden grains rippled like waves as he plowed through. He plucked one and popped the end in his mouth. If he could chew his way into understanding his actions, his grief, he would. For now, he just had to accept two truths: he didn't want to leave Carol and the girl and he could not go back to Atlanta. 

Not that ago he would have spit at himself for being so sentimental, so foolish. Trading blood ties for strangers? No Dixon alive was ever stupid enough to abandon blood. He must have been the first to leave Georgia in three generations. And he may never return. That fact stung more than the broken family ties, and maybe more than it should have, but as the roundhouse came into view his homesickness lessened. Just a little bit.

He followed the fence line, catching glimpses of the interior over some of the shorter metal pieces. He was nearly at the gate when someone knocked on the metal. Roused from his musings, he staggered backward.

"Daryl!"

The wall workers rushed the fence, narrowed eyes peeking over the sheet metal. "You're alright! We were so worried. Kenny didn't send you into a trap?"

"What? No."

"What did you get?"

"A hose and some hardware." At their silence he added, "He's making a water pump."

"Oh!"

After a pause, Jules inquired, "Jon said you got beer?"

"Not yet," he answered, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

"Well, shit."

"I'd go outside the walls too if I got a drink."

Someone whistled, "Hell, if I could get some..."

Daryl walked away as their wishes divulged into crude remarks. Neal must have seen him emerge from the field because the pokey watchmen was already at the gate, twirling a key around his finger. In a seamless motion, he unlocked the gate and slid it open over the tracks.

"How'd it go?" Neal had the gate shut and locked as soon as Daryl stepped through.

"Fine."

Neal was already walking toward his guard tower when he said, "Glad to hear it, man."

Daryl repositioned the bag and crossbow straps on his shoulder. "You know where Kenny is?"

Without turning around, Neal answered, "Over by the kitchen."

The weight of his cargo shifted dug into his muscles. With a huff Daryl crossed the turntable and went around to the side entrance of Genesis's kitchen. He grunted as he dropped the supplies on Kenny's table.

"That was fast," Kenny said. He pawed through the items. Then from behind his desk, he slid three packs of cigarettes to Daryl and a set of plastic bracelets. Kenny held up a finger and then added two bottles of beer. "You have my thanks. Share these with the Misses while they're still cold, hmm?"

Daryl huffed at the joke; the bottles were far from cold. The brown glass was cooler than his hand, however. Daryl stuffed his payment into his bag and turned to leave. Then, thinking better of it, he said, "I got some questions."

"Shoot."

"How did ya know there were supplies there?"

"Ah. Well...that house? Used ta be mine. I guess it still is, technically, even though I ain't payin' my taxes anymore." Kenny snorted. Daryl cocked an eyebrow and Kenny cleared his throat. "I, ah, have a hard time goin' back there."

Daryl remembered the fresh grave and the cross on top. Another piece to the roundhouse puzzle clicked into place. He pressed, "But why me and not Rod or Rodney?"

Kenny pulled off his cap and held it between his hands. "We gotta start diversifying jobs, huh? Ya'll are almost done with that fence, and then what? This place needs more than a fence and a wall to thrive."

Daryl crossed his arms. "So, it was a job interview?"

"You could say that. Or a trial run." He pulled the brim through his fingers one way and then back again. "You think you'd be willin' ta go out more often?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Okay." Kenny grinned crookedly. "Great. I'll make up a schedule for ya."

* * *

Outside the kitchen he spied Sophia on the corner, her tiny form hunched over a bucket. Once he got closer, he realized she was surrounded by walnut shells.

"Hey," he greeted.

Sophia tucked her shoulders inward, trying to make herself as small as possible. With a loud crack, the nut popped open. She separated the meat from the shell, going on as if he wasn't there.

What the hell did he know about young girls? He didn't have any kids, no nieces or nephews. He remembered being twelve and hating his father. That was probably the end of their similarities.

_"After last night, it's no wonder she don' wanna talk to you."_

Daryl licked his lips and tried again, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Shelling nuts." She placed a new nut carefully in the nut cracker and squeezed.

Daryl squatted a respectful distance from the girl and watched a bit. He then grabbed his knife and popped one nut open with a easy flick. She eyed him from behind her blonde hair as he dropped the nut into her bucket.

"Why are you eating grass?" _Crack._

He had forgotten he had the blade in his mouth. He took it out, showed her the chewed, but complete end and said, "Ain't eating it." 

"Oh." She shelled another nut without lifting her head. She was quite good at it, her small fingers prying, extracting, and depositing like a machine. After a moment, Sophia said, "My Mom's mad at you."

Daryl swallowed. "Why's that?"

"You left." Sophia shrugged.

"I was coming back," he said, exasperated. It was only a few hours ago that he had considered leaving. Even so, his time in that house's kitchen, dreaming about taking the motorcycle, felt as distant as a fading dream now. Fuck, he had been good at lying to himself. When did he start to care? He gnawed again at the grass blade, contemplating while Sophia punctuated the air with cracking nuts.

When she cracked the last one in her pile, Sophia clapped the shell fragments from her hands and turned in her work to Samantha in the kitchen. She came back and stared at him with her hands on her hips, waiting, expecting.

Rustled out of his stupor, he dug the bracelets out of his pocket. "Here. Got these for you."

Her mouth opened in surprise as she accepted the gift. She slid them over her wrist and flung out her hand like a lady in a magazine. He couldn't help himself, he grinned.

"Thank you," she said timidly. Apology accepted.

"You're welcome." 

"My mom's probably inside," Sophia hinted with a cheeky smirk.

Daryl got up and wiped his hands on his thighs. "Well, I better go find 'er then."

"Yep. You should. In the meantime, I'm going to go play on the boxcars." She skipped away without another glance at him. 

* * *

Daryl couldn't find her in the main hall. She wasn't near the laundry sinks either. Exhaustion tugged on his shoulders and he gave in to it, trudging up the stairs with heavy steps. He pushed open the door to their room, practically salivating over the beers in his hand. The knot in his back returned, grating over bone as he started shrugging out of his shirt. If he wasn't careful, he'd poke a finger right through the threads. He considered the worn garment briefly, and wondered why he hadn't thought to grab a shirt for himself from the house today.

He stopped, realizing he had pillaged Kenny's old home. The man had said he could take other things he'd find useful. At the same time, Daryl snorted; he lost interest in stuffing his feet in Kenny's old boots.

_"I'll give 'em back later."_

The air wasn't much cooler inside, but it felt good on his freed skin regardless. Leaning over the chair, Daryl pressed the knot and grimaced at the tender muscle under one of his scars. What he wouldn't give for a hot shower and a couple muscle relaxers...

The door cracked open, scattering his musings. He jumped, instinctively spinning his back to the window to stare at Carol, who gaped at him.

"Knock next time!"

"What wife knocks before entering?" She snapped back.

"Ain't my wife." 

"Believe me, I know. Here." A new shirt smacked him in the face. Carol disappeared into the side before he could pull the cloth from his eyes. The door slammed.

He flung back his head and exhaled sharply. Leave it to him to fuck up an apology attempt. He couldn't even get to the part where he expressed remorse. Muttering curses, Daryl buttoned the new shirt, which of course was a perfect fit. His chest tightened unexpectedly. Or, maybe not so unexpected anymore; he now recognized it came after seemingly disappointing Carol. 

He pocketed the red fabric he had found and, with the two bottles in hand, he knocked on the door.

Carol peaked at him through a crack, her eyes so much like the day they first met. He froze, knowing in that instant that this was what he came back for, for the kindness she held in her eyes when she looked at him. Even though he didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Me too." She took the drink and let him in. Carol opened the bottle and sunk into a chair. "Where did you get these?"

"Kenny gave them to me."

She sighed appreciatively.

Daryl found spot on the floor. They had to take out all the shelving in here to make space for her and Sophia. He hadn't been in here since he had helped her throw out all the old boxes and cabinets. They'd decorated. Little magazine pictures of trees and beaches covered old nail holes. It was nice for what it was, and he admired that.

Now that he was in the door, his mouth went dry thinking she would ask about his scars. She had a full view of them when she surprised him. He knew they were hideous, those physical markers of old pain and shame and the glare of his father. He swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained. Wanting to avoid that topic, he opted to ask about another.

"Rough day?" He cautiously eyed her over his beer bottle.

"I spent all day worrying about you." The bottle hit her teeth with her aggressive swig. Carol wiped her mouth. "What I would do if you didn't come back. I hated it."

He flinched at the bite in her tone and dipped his chin. "Don't know why you bothered yourself."

"No?"

"You'd be fine," he said. He may have finally admitted to himself his own reasoning for coming back, but the lingering bit of doubt that Carol cared lodged in his heart like a splinter.

"I'm not faking it." She pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes. "I mean, I don't have the energy to fake concern..." she paused, then threw down her wrists across her knees. "I...I just can't lose you."

His heart stuttered as his sliver of uncertainty crumbed under her piercing stare.

"I know we agreed you could leave once I felt I could handle it on my own. And I'm grateful for what you've taught me, truly! But if there's any way...if you decide you'd rather stay with us..."

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from answering too fast. "Nah. Change of plans. I don' wanna leave."

"Oh. What changed?"

Daryl traced a pattern on the tile, picking his words carefully. Would there be anything worse than screwing this up after he admitted what he wanted to himself? He wished his pulse wasn't so loud. He wished he was better with words.

"Just, uh, been doin' some thinking and I got nowhere ta go."

"Really?"

"Nah."

They sat in silence, alternating who drank. It went on for so long, Daryl wished he had a second beer. He sloshed the last sips around the bottom, spinning her declaration over and over in his mind. 

_"I just can't lose you."_

He downed the last of his beer, desperate for the slight buzz to soften his nerves.

Carol had her attention on the grounds outside. Brow furrow, she picked at the label on her beer bottle. "You really don't have anyone?" When he shook his head, she clarified, "Before, you...you mentioned someone named Merle?"

Daryl bit back the angry guilt ignited by his brother's name. "When did I say that?"

"Back on the train. You muttered that name in your sleep and few times and...well...anyway. Who is that? An old girlfriend?"

He laughed. "My brother," Daryl corrected. "He would slap ya for thinkin' him a girl."

"Oh." Carol buried a giggle in her shoulder.

"Not that I would let him hit ya," he corrected in a rush, remembering the angry red mark on Carol's cheek left over from Ed's wrath. 

Softly, she reassured, "I know."

He cleared his throat. "I left him. Back in Atlanta." It was like coughing up stones at first, admitting he abandoned his brother. It left his throat raw. "He disappeared one day from the hotel and never came back. The city fell apart and I heard the radio...I just ran to the train."

"I'm sorry," Carol whispered through a frown. "I wanted to go to my sister's. Ed demanded we stay. We stayed and stayed. Ed finally gave in with the train option. Said it would be for a few weeks till the city stabilized." She made a little gesture toward the room. "And here we are." 

The sun bathed her in golden light. She tipped back the bottle, took a slow drink. Daryl tore his gaze from the delicate curve of her throat.

"Probably not how you expected it to go," he said to the floor. Her husband was dead and she's stuck playing wife to a redneck in an old train house.

"No, it's not." Her face lit up and her next words knocked the air from him. "Honestly, it's better."

Blushing, he set the empty bottle down as a distraction. Adjusting his position, he felt the lump in his back pocket and remembered the red fabric he had pulled from the closet. 

"Here, I found this today."

She let out a pleased gasp as she accepted the fabric. "For me?"

"Thought it could be...useful."

Carol ran her hands over the piece, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I love it."

"Thought you might." The little admission slipped before he thought better of it.

"How did it go, anyway? The run?" She spread the fabric between her hands; it was a scarf or something, not nearly large enough for her to wear as a dress like he envisioned. Even so, he was captivated. She carefully wrapped it around her head while he told her about his walk, the house, and his conclusions about Kenny.

Final knot tied she said, "So Kenny used to live out here?"

"Yeah. I also found out where we are. Nebraska."

She repeated the state name as if trying it on. Turning her head one way and then the other, she glanced at herself in the mirror on the wall. "Did you find a map?"

"Just old mail. We're near Sunnydale, Nebraska."

"We could look it up though. From the way you described it, Kenny's got a map of every state down there."

"Could." He mindlessly fingered the hem of his shirt. "You wanna leave?"

"I...don't know anymore." She sighed, leaving the mirror. "Call me crazy, but I'm okay with this place. For now. What about you?"

Daryl recalled the way Kenny nervously asked him to make the run. He considered the high likelihood that someone important to the old engineer was buried behind that house. Then, the overall scope of this place and the plan going forward. Lastly, he looked at Carol, considered the trust she held for him. Trust, and well, yes, some level of affection.

He turned away as he said, "Nah. I think we're good here for now."

"We can always be ready to leave, though. Just in case."

"Just in case. But, ya should know, if we stay Kenny's gonna start sendin' me out more. Somethin' about diversifying jobs." He looked at her through his hair, thankful for the shaggy shield.

Carol sucked in a breath. "It's dangerous."

"But if we're stayin', it's gotta happen."

"You'll be careful, right?"

"Yeah," he rasped. "O' course."

"Well then, I guess I'll just live with it until I can go out with you!" She chuckled at his slack jaw. "Come on, I'm not that bad am I?"

His ears burned as he stammered out a response. "No...no, yer gettin' the hang of it for sure. I just..."

She laughed again. "Daryl, it's okay. I know I'm not ready. But just know I plan on it. Eventually." Winking, she deposited the bottle in the waste bin. "Thank you for the beer. I better go find Sophia."

His fingers circled the lip of the bottle. The smooth motion contrasted greatly with the wild thumping of his heart. "She said she was goin' to the boxcars."

Carol touched his shoulder in thanks. "I'm glad you made it back alright."

He nodded and attempted a smile. "At least there's somethin' I'm good at."

"Hmm. Aren't you selling yourself short? I could probably name a few others."

With a wave and a saunter she sent his thoughts in a tailspin. Daryl cradled his empty beer for a long time after the door closed behind her. When the shadows lengthened across the floor, he tossed his bottle in the waste bin and allowed himself a small grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next few chapters are some of my favorites. Hope you enjoy them too.


	9. The Water Pump

It was easier after that.

He still took dinner by himself, but he didn't have to fight for the softness in his voice when he spoke to her in front of others. Carol, for her part, seemed to have forgiven him for his angry transgressions. If her easy grins and flirty looks weren't enough proof, Sophia described the entire plot of My Little Pony to him one day while he helped her shell nuts. If the kid thought he should know about her favorite TV show, and wasn't scolding him for the way he treated her mom, he figured he must be doing okay.

Changes happened at the roundhouse too. Within days after Daryl's hose run, the fence had been completely covered in metal and was now a scaly snake protecting the building. The focus turned to the water pump.

It was the first meeting Kenny held since the Marcus incident. He and Rodney climbed back up on their stage and laid out the plan. First, dig a ditch from the stream to the roundhouse for the hose to lay in. Next, construct the water pump in the stream. Third, bury the hose to keep it safe.

"This is obviously all outside the fence, for the most part anyway. So we're going to need to keep an eye out for the dead. Neal can't shoot 'em all from the guard tower." He swept the crowd and liking what he saw, Kenny straightened. "Alright then. Daryl, can I count on you to help Rodney keep the dead away?"

"You got it."

The slight suspicion on a select few people's faces when Kenny asked a favor of him directly made the back of his neck itch. Daryl scratched at the invisible irritation while he read the rest of the crowd. To his surprise, most people looked relieved; whether it was for the water access or not getting asked to kill the dead, he didn't know. Probably a mix of both. 

Jules and his family stood attentive, though he looked to Jonathan after everything Kenny said. A few times, Jonathan opened his mouth as if he was going to say something and then closed it again. If Daryl was reading his pinched expression correctly, Jonathan wanted to be part of the action and the planning.

Daryl snorted and thought, _"I wonder if Jonathan's ever been excluded from anythin' in his whole damn life."_

Carefully, Kenny asked, "Would anyone volunteer to help stab the dead through the fence?"

To Daryl's surprise, Carol raised her hand with a shrug along with Sam and a handful of others.

He leaned in to whisper, "You sure?"

"Yes. Time to use what I've learned!" In an even softer whisper, she added, "And it'll feel good to do something other than washing Kenny's underwear."

Daryl nudged her shoulder while he held down a snort.

Kenny counted the raised hands. "Alright, Sam. Here is your fence crew. The rest of you will be digging the ditch, cooking, and whatnot. We want to get this done as quickly as possible, so everyone will be supporting the effort in some way. I don't want to spend more time outside the fence than we need to--"

"Great plan, Kenny!" Jonathan cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. "Isn't it a good plan, everyone?"

Jules let out a cheer and a few people in the crowd murmured agreement.

Kenny cleared his throat. "Ah, thank you. Let's get to work!"

* * *

Daryl had learned a long time ago that you always bring a back up weapon to a fight. So he grabbed the rifle, made sure it was loaded and that he had the extra ammo, but he also sharpened his knife to perfection.

Carol and the others were spread out along the fence, stabbing devices ready. She was the only one with a traditional weapon. Most of the others gripped spears or staffs to give them reach. Daryl exchanged a small smirk and a nod with Carol as he joined the crowd at the gate. The digging crew milled around, palming their shovels. Jonathan and Jules eyed him as Daryl took lead with Rodney.

"There weren't many dead along the fence this morning," Rodney said by way of greeting. "Hopefully it'll be a slow day for us."

"Let's hope so," Daryl agreed as he surveyed the crew.

For most of them, it was the first time they had left the fence since getting off the train. White knuckles and tight expressions were common. It was a long walk along the fence to the back of the building. Hopefully none of them would lose their nerve along the way.

Kenny pushed his way to the front and unlocked the gate after signaling to Neal. As they made their way around the fence, Kenny gave further instructions. "Now, Neal's going ta pick off the dead from far away, but he won't be shooting anywhere near us. I'll be spotting the whole time. If we have to run, we run."

If it was meant to be reassuring, it had the complete opposite effect. Daryl shrugged it off, preferring the fearful silence from Jules and even Jonathan to their typical endless chatter. Kenny drew a line in the dirt as a guide and set them to task. Daryl and Rodney placed themselves between the crew and the edge of the field. The silence made it easy to hear any approaching dead. But after an hour or two of digging and no walking corpse in sight, they started talking again. Daryl walked a little further away, focusing on the field and every unexpected twitch through the grasses.

"Can't wait for the showers," Jules said wistfully.

"Yeah," Jonathan returned brightly and kicked his spade into the earth. Dirt flew. "Kenny, let me know if you need help keeping watch!"

"Sure. For right now, we're good as is."

While the diggers got more comfortable, Daryl's attention stay razor sharp. Soon enough, the dead did come.

Slow, like a creeping ivy. One and then two. It was easy enough to kick a corpse to the ground and stab it. Daryl and Rodney didn't let them get close, enclosing the gap at about thirty yards. They settled into a good system, alternating who took point. But then, Rodney yelled.

A corpse came crawling through the grasses, grasping for Rodney's ankle. Panicked, Rodney raised his pistol and shot. It echoed like thunder. 

"You alright?" Daryl asked him, the echoes rattling his nerves. Because of the fence, he had no idea where Carol was, but he found himself trying to find her anyway. He huffed at himself and helped Rodney step away from the lifeless body.

"I'm fine, but..."

A breeze whipped through the field and whistled a warning. Two slumped heads appeared in the distance.

Rodney cursed. "We might have a problem on our hands."

Two more heads joined the first pair, and then four. Gaping mouths with rotten teeth. Dirty clothes sagging across bones.

Daryl swallowed and waded out into the field. He swung at the nearest walking corpse and then rushed to a second. 

Behind him, the crew dug faster now. Their shovels rang as they collided with one another. Heated curses were flung back and forth. When Daryl switched out with Rodney, dust clung to his slick skin. The ditch not nearly as straight or smooth edged as before.

"Alright men, straighten it out!" Kenny demanded after a particularly hard curve.

"Hard to when they let the dead get so close!"

Daryl wiped the splattered gore from his face. "Yer fine."

"I can hear them!" Jules exclaimed.

"That's bullshit." Daryl cleaned his weapon and then watched Rodney strike down two corpses in the field.

Ignoring Kenny, Jonathan tamped his shovel into the ground and held out a hand. "Let me help."

Daryl kept his attention on the shifting situation in the field. Rodney had it under control, but another dead one crept closer. "You ever stab one before, Jonathan?"

Jonathan staggered. "No, but--"

"Don't need yer help." Daryl nodded at Rodney retreating for a break. "Just dig."

Jonathan recoiled as if he had been slapped. "I'm just trying to help, Daryl."

"Yeah. Then dig." Daryl spat to the side and then jogged up to the nearest corpse and struck it down.

It took them all day, but the ditch did get dug. The dead eventually petered out, but not before Daryl's arm threatened to fall off from overuse. Tired, hungry, and maybe a little angry, the digging crew slumped back inside the gate with Daryl, Rodney, and Kenny prodding them along from the back. Daryl cast one last glance at the empty field and wondered just how many corpses would bother them tomorrow.

* * *

That evening, after touching base with Kenny about the plan tomorrow and confirming Carol was just fine, Daryl trudged upstairs with sore shoulders and arms. He left the busy dining all behind him, opting for no dinner rather than spending one more moment in the crowd. 

For the first time he could remember, he wished he was ambidextrous. As he struggled to ease the knots in his back, he concluded he should work on that. He hissed as his fingers found the most tender spot, completely missing Carol's entrance.

Carol stopped him with a small hand on his wrist.

"Here, let me."

He was ashamed of the moan he emitted under her nimble fingers, but she didn't seem to think anything of it. Carol hummed a little as she rubbed the tension from his neck and down across his shoulders. She focused on the knot over his right shoulder blade. His neck fell forward in relief.

"Good work today," she said as she added her second thumb.

"You too. Didn't have any dead come from that way."

"We were banging on the metal to get their attention. That seemed to work." After a moment, Carol paused her administrations. Palms curled over his shoulders she said, "I could do a better job if you took off your shirt."

Daryl stiffened.

"It's okay if you're not comfortable though." She resumed the massage.

"Hang on," he rasped. He unbuttoned his shirt. "It's a fuckin' killer knot," he said, trying to sound nonchalant about it but the end of his sentence wavered. He shrugged the fabric from his shoulders, baring his back to her. His fingers turned white around the edge of the chair. Having all those terrible memories in plain sight triggered his instinct to run, to lash out, to seek shelter. 

He tamped it down by blurting, "I was a shitty kid who had a shitty father." The explanation made his ears burn and his back twinge. 

Darkly, Carol said, "I don't believe you ever did anything to deserve this. No child does."

His skin was hot, her fingers cool and he shivered under the contrast. Or maybe it was the affirmation and gentle kindness causing the sensation. All this life his back felt like a brand, one that displayed ownership and the quality of his character. But Carol wasn't standing there defining him by his scars.

She worked the knot in silence but also grew bold, tracing the bump at the top of his spine, parting the hair at the nape of his neck. Exploratory touches that had nothing to do with muscle relief. As his shoulder relaxed, tension coiled elsewhere in his body. 

He'd been with women before. Flings after a round of darts at bars, Merle and his friends cackling behind his back. He'd been caressed as a means to an end, the physical coxing prerequisite to fucking. Where those had been purposeful touches, Carol's hands were lazy. Arousal coiled in him with each slow swipe of her finger.

He wanted to pick her up and press her against a wall.

"There. That's better," Carol said.

Face red, Daryl refused to turn around. He made a show of smoothly rolling the offending shoulder. "Thanks."

"Any time." She jumped a little as he fixed his shirt, as if she forgot she still had her hands on his skin. "If that knot comes back, you know where to find me!"

"I will." He stood a little too fast and bumped the chair into her. Both fumbling, they simultaneously grabbed the chair. He garbled a rushed apology. "What about you?" He gestured to her shoulder and the length of her arm. "I noticed it was bothering you after fence work."

"Oh! I'm okay, thank you," she said, but something in her tone gave away her white lie.

"Ya sure?"

"Yes. That's nice of you, but I will be fine." She forced a little chuckle and then fixed the chair. "Well, I, I should go grab dinner for us--and Sophia." Carol wiped her hands on her thighs, smiled, and sauntered out of the room. 

A big part of him was convinced he did something wrong. Another part of him told him not to read into it. The last bit, the one he kept focusing on, whispered small impossibilities.

Him and Carol?

_"Nah. It ain't like that."_

Not for her, surely.

But him?

Daryl swallowed hard, willing his heart to quiet down.

* * *

A seismic shift occurred. All the warning trembles from before merged to one large earth-shaking change. Jonathan no longer talked to him as if he was just a quiet outcast that needed a bold man to speak for him. Daryl didn't think it was a menacing shift, but maybe a recalculated one. For his part, Daryl shrugged it off; it was about time Jonathan realized Daryl wasn't going to step in as one of his cronies.

They completed the water pump projected within a week without any major glitches. A rousing cheer went up the first time water flowed from the spigot within the fence. For the rest of the day everyone acted as if it was possible to get drunk on fresh water, grinning wildly and slapping each other on the backs. Someone started singing a song about a water buffalo and by the start of the second verse, half the kids and parents were singing along too.

Afterward, Kenny swiftly adopted Daryl as one of his top crew, sending him out on hunts, paying him with what surely was a dwindling supply of beer.

And that led to him and Carol.

They shared two beers each evening, whether the sun was setting or rain slid down the window panes. He looked forward to those runs for Kenny not just because he got to be outside but also because he and Carol's dinner time drinks were something he looked forward to. There weren't any more shoulder massages; after his reaction to the first one, he denied himself that pleasure.

Instead, they filled their evenings with stories.

He told her more about Merle and hunting. She divulged her good upbringing and how a high school boyfriend evolved into a husband and then abuser. Sometimes they would just sit in each other's company, content with digesting the new information. Then, out of the blue, Carol would laugh and tell him a story about Sophia as a baby. The girl would blush and protest. Only then would Carol relent with a twinkle in her eye.

Sometimes, when they'd clink their drinks together and Sophia would raise her water glass to theirs too, it didn't feel too far off from the very thing they were pretending to be: a family.


	10. Caught

A lifetime had passed since Atlanta. The crowd that had pinned all their hopes onto a mysterious voice over the radio and climbed into boxcars and open top cargo cars had dropped down to about twenty-five people, not including Kenny's original crew. Maybe ten had left that first night, risking outside rather than Kenny's weird, industrial kingdom. Another fifteen or so trickled out under daylight over the first few weeks, unashamed of their decision.

Daryl knew because he kept count. At first, he did it to always know the odds, to know what he was up against. Then, he counted because he found himself responsible for feeding people.

The sun was just brightening the sky when he had left Genesis. On his way out, Daryl had passed a little plot of land that had been plowed and planted. Judging from the fledging plants, they may get tomatoes and corn in a few weeks. He had computed a mental calculation of people and food. Conclusion reached, he had set his hunting goal for the day.

The numbers gave him a headache. He waded further into the open field, a few kills bouncing on his back. Out here, it was mostly turkey, rabbit, and groundhog. No matter how fruitful his hunts were, nearly all the meat was consumed that same night. The one time he had brought back a deer, pride straightening his slouch, Kenny turned into jerky.

By now, everyone added their extra supplies into a local pantry. Jonathan's wife, Laura, had taken to doing inventory there, Carol with her. People still kept personal items, but canned goods or juice boxes were beginning to stack up in the small room. Just last week, Double Rod had taken the train out and returned at sunset with cars full of canned goods. Kenny told him they were stocking up for the inevitable winter and that they needed to focus on eating fresh while they could.

Daryl nestled down in a new spot with the acknowledgement, _"More proof he's in it for the long game."_

Just yesterday he had eaten an egg for the first time since the start of the apocalypse. Laura had suggested finding chickens and her husband took her idea and ran with it. Literally. With nothing but a gun and a party of two other men, Jonathan ran to the nearest farm. Daryl had snickered at their incompetency and recklessness until he tasted the first batch of scrambled eggs. He begrudgingly kept his annoyance to himself, but he noted the haughty grin Jonathan wore upon his return.

Strange how the man had turned providing into a competition.

Daryl snorted to himself. _"He's the only one who thinks of it that way."_

Regardless, the little coop was now home to five of the birds. The tricky part was keeping the birds hidden and far enough away from the walls so their clucking wouldn't attract the dead. 

Despite all the change and turmoil, there were days when he was out in the field that it felt like a dream. With his crossbow cocked, zeroed in on the prey, Daryl could be anywhere. His uncle's farm or Georgia state game lands. Except he's not. It's the end of the world. The extra bit of his awareness he used to save for identifying bird calls now listened for the walking dead. He kept waking up in a train yard hundreds of miles from Atlanta pretending to be a husband and a father. 

Daryl had gotten used to waking up to Carol's soft snores in the closet. She and the girl still slept in the smaller room, but after asking him about it, she had transformed the larger office space into a decent apartment. Under the large windows there was a small, two person table that they had squeezed a third chair around. The old file cabinets had been repurposed into dressers; all their clothing fit in eight drawers, leaving room for shoes and accessories. 

She'd done all the reorganizing humming an old tune he had nearly recognized. Sitting at the table, he caught himself tapping his foot while admiring the red scarf tied around her head and the soothing sound of her voice. At one point she beamed at him as if expecting him to join in the song. He had wanted to kiss her then. The urge caught him off guard so he had bolted with nothing but a mumble about some task.

It hadn't been the first time; he'd thought about it often since the night she massage his sore shoulder. He wondered if he had said something then or made a move if it would have worked out in his favor. He also wondered if he had lost brain cells, thinking Carol would actually want to kiss him.

Despite his insecurity, the attraction remained and intensified. If daydreaming wasn't bad enough, the real dreams that filled his night had him waking up flushed and very thankful they slept in separate rooms. It would have been easy to write it off as nothing; it was the apocalypse after all and even before the world fell, he hadn't found release with a woman in a long time.

Except, there always was a tug in his heart alongside the physical arousal.

The grasses stirred, shaking Daryl from his musings. Crouching, he raised his crossbow and waited. A second later, a rabbit hopped its last as a bolt pinned it dead. Daryl added it to his collection. He stroked the two rabbits and a fat groundhog. With a final glance out over the green field, he nodded and made his return to the rail yard.

From the back the complex looked idealistic. Detailed brickwork around the corners and windows hinted at its initial importance and grandeur. Out front the weaving railroad tracks and abandoned vehicles made it look like a wasteland. Two families had taken up in old sleeper cars, and the one of the wives offered to teach classes to the kids. That's where Sophia spent most of her time. Daryl thought it was good for her to have that regularity.

Smoke was coming from the kitchen chimney when he knocked on the door. Samantha answered, her dark curls tied up high on her head.

"Another groundhog, Daryl?" She took the kills with a fake grimace.

"There ain't no deer," he said back, knowing she would make the best of it regardless.

"I guess it'll take more time for more of the deer to come back. Groundhog stew it is, then." She shrugged, taking it in stride.

He left the kitchen fully intending to take the rest of the day off. 

" _Maybe Carol wouldn't mind rubbing my shoulder again,"_ he mused as the offending joint cracked. Then, thinking of her petite frame, he added, _"Maybe she'll let me massage that shoulder of her's..."_

Those thoughts had become more common too, the desire to touch her skin or just to be close enough to feel the warmth of her body. Odd, because he never wanted to be near nobody before; he could barely stand his own brother most of the time. Every time he tried to nip the thoughts in the bud, they persisted like weeds. He couldn't just shake them away anymore. Ever since he had committed to staying and she had expressed her desire for him to stay, the feelings had only grown. 

Merle probably would have laughed and told him he was so starved for affection, he was taking crumbs and mistaking them for a feast. Before he jumped on a train and left all he knew behind, Daryl would have believed his brother. But as he rounded a corner and spied Carol teaching Sophia how to hold a knife, an easy smile came to him. These days, he wasn't so sure he would have agreed with Merle. 

He too good at reading people and himself to make such a mistake.

Carol had that red scarf wrapped around her head to keep the sweat from her eyes. She confidently adjusted her daughter's grip, explained why it should be done one way or another. Daryl crossed his arms in the shade and listened to her repeat his guidance. He smirked, Sophia was an attentive student.

After a few moments he said, "Lookin' pretty good over there."

Carol beamed at him and then her daughter. "We were just finishing up. Sophia's getting the hang of it!"

He took it as an invitation and joined them in the sun. Carol knelt and buckled a sheath around Sophia's waist. The girl picked at it, uncertain.

"It's too big," Sophia said. The sheath sagged even on the smallest belt loop. 

"Give it here," Daryl said, drawing his knife.

He punched a couple extra holes into the belt and then handed it back to Carol. There was a lot of extra length on the tail, but at least it wouldn't fall off the girl's hips. Which was about as good as it would get. No way the girl was strong enough yet to punch through bone. In a few years, maybe.

"It's a good idea ta get used to havin' it on, but next time I'm out I'll look for a smaller belt."

"Thank you." Carol touched his wrist. A sudden breeze raced across the ground and up through her hair. The image of her windblown, freckled, and content made Daryl want to kill Ed all over again.

"Ain't no thing. Doin' good work over here." He nodded once at Sophia. "No kid o' mine wouldn't know how to use a knife."

Carol's eyebrows shot up. "No. I suppose not." 

He cleared his throat and gestured to the girl. "Alright, Sophia, show me whatcha got."

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail before drawing her knife. She radiated confidence when the sheath didn't fall over her hips. Weapon raised, Sophia showed off what she had learned. The girl had decent technique and good footwork. He made only minor corrections.

"Soon enough I'll be striking the dead, dead!" Sophia huffed.

"Hopefully you won't need to though for a long time," Carol said.

"Come on, Mama." The kid then turned her hopeful gaze to Daryl. "Tell her I'm ready, Daryl!"

With two sets of piercing stares focused on him, Daryl raised his hands in defense. "You're looking good, but I'm gonna hafta agree with yer Mom on this one, kiddo."

"Thank you," Carol said.

Sophia sheathed her knife with a frown. "Boo, you're no fun."

He and Carol shared a chuckle as a shadow approached.

"Hey, Daryl! It's been awhile." Jonathan loudly announced his presence. He had his shirt rolled up past his elbows and was coated in dust. 

Daryl's good-humored mood darkened. "Yeah, it has."

"Still doing errands for Kenny?"

Daryl nodded. He'd been grateful for it too. While the beers were nice, it was a reward in of itself to not have to work with the other men around the yard.

"That's what Carol said." Jonathan beamed and winked. "That's the entire reason I volunteered to get those chickens. I was jealous of all that beer!"

Already exhausted by the conversation, Daryl stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

Thankfully, Carol stepped up beside him. She looped her grasp around his elbow and said, "I, for one, am so glad for those chickens."

"Well, you're very welcome. But I didn't come over here to get thanked. I actually need a favor." Jonathan pointed at Daryl. "Daryl, we could really use you back on the wall. Those bricks won't place themselves. Are you free?"

The little squeeze Carol gave him had just enough pressure to be a warning; Jonathan had brought this up before. 

Knowing full well that his schedule was empty Daryl said, "I'll hafta ask Kenny."

"Don't worry. I already asked your boss and he said it was cool."

Trapped, Daryl relented. "Alright then."

Jonathan clapped. "Great! We're making great progress. Maybe Kenny will have something for us when we are done." 

"Yeah," Daryl agreed.

Conversation complete, the four of them stood there in the aftermath of fading chuckles. Instead of leaving, Jonathan took a half step back and rubbed his chin. 

"Is there something else?" Carol asked.

Frowning, Jonathan glanced between Sophia and Carol and then slowly made his way back to Daryl. "Are you really teaching your daughter how to use a knife? You wouldn't even let me help stab the dead the other day!"

Daryl stiffened. Simultaneously, Carol and Sophia came to his defense.

"I can do it!" Sophia declared.

"It was my idea, actually," Carol said.

Jonathan had the decency to laugh and back off. "My apologies. It's just so safe here. Why bother?"

"The world's shit outside. Better ta be safe than sorry," Daryl said, finding his voice with a little supportive nod from Carol. 

"My thoughts exactly," Carol said. "It's nice here, but you never know."

Relenting, Jonathan shrugged. "I guess you're right. Well, anyway, I better get going." He patted his stomach. "Gotta fuel up for this afternoon! I'll see you at the wall, Daryl."

Once Jonathan had turned and left, Daryl exhaled loudly. Grimacing, he said, "He's fuckin'--sorry, Sophia--nosey."

"He is. He's a lot of things." Carol rolled her eyes. She slipped her hand up from his elbow and circled up his bicep. "Maybe I can tire him out with stories from my high school reunions at lunch."

Daryl returned the eye roll. "Good luck. That guy will never tire of yappin'."

"I'll do my best though. Why don't you take lunch in our room? Put off the time you'll spend with him." She pulled on him, just a little, and kissed his cheek. 

"Y-yeah. Good idea."

His face was hot long after she had walked off with Sophia. Daryl touched his cheek and allowed himself to hope that it meant something more than just another part of their act.

* * *

Even from a distance, Daryl could identify Jonathan by his boisterous gestures. The man was jovial in his movements and charismatic in his speech. It made the hair on the back of Daryl's neck stand up. He couldn't say why exactly. Buried jealousy that he'd never command people that way? Annoyance because surely anyone that nice had to be hiding something? 

He discarded each possibility. More likely, Jonathan just reminded him of the pricks in high school. Popular, good looking, smooth talkers.

"Daryl!" Jonathan greeted him with a gleaming grin that immediately set him on edge. "Your wife just entertained us with tales of your trip to Erie."

Stupidly, he stared back while sweat pooled at his lower back. Whenever they had to disclose details about their past, he and Carol would review them together that night. They cross-checked and quizzed each other about their fabricated past life. It was a junky system, but thankfully Daryl was good at remembering details.

It had worked.

Until now.

"I went to school there," Jonathan prattled on, either ignoring Daryl's blank look or throwing him a bone.

Daryl cleared his throat. "I don't remember much about that trip. Nice town though."

"You don't remember your last vacation?" Jonathan laughed. "I can't stop dreaming about the lobster I ate on our trip to Maine last year."

Jules piped in about roller coasters or some other bullshit. Daryl didn't hear him, his ears burned. What the hell did he know about Erie? Where the hell was it? 

Just when he thought Jonathan moved on, he circled back around with, "No, come on. I love Erie. You gotta tell me your favorite bar."

Daryl bent over to slip on gloves and then fiddle with the bricks to buy himself some time. He quickly imagined taking Carol and Sophia on vacation. "I don't remember names much." He shrugged. "I was just trying to keep the wife happy."

"Right. Well, from the sound of it, you did a good job. She couldn't stop talking about it." 

Jonathan clapped Daryl on the shoulder. Laughing, he caroused the men into picking up the pace. Two men made a mess of slapping mortar down and Jules was laughing at dirty splash of water across Paul's face. Another duo followed with brick. Daryl couldn't recall their names. Not when he was racing to make up vacation details.

Thankfully, they had just scraped the bottom of the mortar container and needed to mix more. Daryl jumped over to the empty water bucket and said, "I'll take care of this."

Jonathan thanked him with a slow smile and the other men watched him go. 

Daryl walked to the water pump with red ears and a target on his back. He worked all afternoon to keep the water flowing for the small batches of mortar and he sweated from the labor as much as his nerves. 

Jonathan didn't let up. 

"Did you go to Sluggers? That was my favorite bar in college."

Before, Jonathan carried the conversation, asking polite questions but also using it as an excuse to talk about himself. Something had changed. Now it was as if he was digging for dirt. The tension between Daryl's shoulders pulled tighter and tighter with each question.

He wanted to punch Jonathan's wagging mouth. Or pull that stupid polo over his head and push him to the dirt. Daryl tamped down those old problem-solving tendencies, Carol and Sophia never far from his mind. 

_"Don't fuck this up,"_ he mentally chanted each time he handed off a bucket. If he could get through this afternoon, he'd make sure Kenny had tasks lined up for him from sun up to sun down. Just so he'd never have to do this again.

"What about the zoo?" Jonathan asked as he followed Daryl to the water spigot. "Which beach did you go to?"

He could only repeat the same half-assed answers so many times. Daryl inevitably snapped, "Fuck man, just let me fill the damn buckets."

The grin on Jonathan's face slipped faster than a drop of water dried in the desert. 

An awkward silence stretched and thinned until Daryl muttered a slight apology, "Shit. It's hot."

"You've never been to Erie, have you?" Jonathan sucked in through his teeth. 

Daryl's stomach dropped. "No, I have--"

"You don't have to lie." The usual warm that coated Jonathan's voice was gone and replaced with ice.

Daryl gulped, "Fuck man, I...musta just have gotten too drunk and forgot most of it."

Jonathan grabbed the bucket with a sideways glance. "Let's just call it a day."

He whistled and directed the wall crew toward clean up. Daryl stumbled over to help and managed to kick over a pile of bricks. He then attempted to stack them again after Jules cursed him lightly. Daryl didn't hear it though. His mind raged like a hive of bees.

As soon as Jonathan called to the others for the end of their shift Daryl raced across the yard. He dashed up the metal staircase, dodging his neighbors as they made their way downstairs for food. He slammed the door shut and paced. After two rounds he fumbled for his cigarettes.

By the time Carol arrived he had lit his third one.

"What's wrong?" She hissed, latching the door quickly.

"I fucked up, that's what's wrong. Jonathan's on to us. Or maybe he's just onto me." He explained the situation, the nagging questions, and then how Jonathan called out his lie. 

Her face went white. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have talked about Erie."

"How the fuck would you have known he has a hard-on for his college town?" Daryl resumed pacing.

"I mean..." Carol paused to open a window. Brow furrowed, she continued, "I don't think I even mentioned you. It could have been a girls trip for all he knows!"

"But when he asked, I acted like I had been there. I'm an idiot. He's suspicious of _me_." Daryl buried his face in his palms, thumbs pressed to his temples. 

He imagined the whispers now being passed across the dinner table: _There's something wrong with that Daryl guy._

_He's always so angry and hiding upstairs._

_And now he lied about going on a family vacation. Who does that?_

_So, then, what_ else _has he lied about?_

_Being a husband? A father?_

"Daryl?" Carol slipped her hand around his and squeezed. 

The little touch derailed his chaotic train of thought. He cracked open his eyes, blinked away the frustrated moisture there. Shamed, he glared at the tile. "What are we gonna do?" He croaked. "I'm sorry. It's my fault."

A thump came from the next room over and they both froze. A moment passed and then came more shuffling. Had they ever heard anyone next door before? What if they heard their conversation?

Carol recovered first. "Come with me. I need to show you something." It's like he had a chain wrapped around him and she gave it a little yank; he trotted after her, holding his breath until they passed the door next to theirs and whomever was inside. 

Skylights lit up the hallway in rectangular patches. No one accosted them as they moved through light and shadow, light and shadow. Daryl's unusually stiff gait followed Carol's light footsteps. 

For what he guessed to be a cover up in case anyone heard them, Carol abandoned their conversation and started explaining the makeup of the rooms they passed.

"After all those people left at the beginning, a lot of rooms opened up." She indicated an open door. "This one, Laura and I turned into a library. It's mostly railroad books now, but Laura already donated her stash and I think Rodney said he'd go get more."

The crowded room smelled like dust and time rather than paper and leather. Just one corner shelf held a handful of books. All the other dark shelves begged to be filled. Carol nudged the door closed behind him, a slight smile on her lips.

She cast a quick glance into the hallway and then said, "Who would have thought, a library in the apocalypse!"

"It's nice," he said begrudgingly, exhausted from keeping up a ruse all day with Jonathan, only to have to continue to do so now.

Carol took his hand. "It's not even the best part."

Around an empty bookcase and out another door, they stepped onto a balcony and he was met with a cool breeze. Storm clouds rolled out of the west, dark purple and swirling silver. Arms outstretched, she leaned over the wall and breathed deep. The sweet smell of incoming rain was impossible to miss.

A private balcony and a gorgeous view didn't solve their problem. It did give them a safe space to talk, however. Daryl relaxed slightly, but before he could restart their conversation, Carol cut him off.

"You know, when I left Atlanta, I didn't know what was coming. The only sure things in my book were Ed and Sophia. I didn't know where we were going or even if the train was the right decision." Carol paused, letting her wistful smile disappear as soon as it arrived.

Her easy dialogue countered his edginess like water doses flames. Despite being unsure why she brought up Atlanta, Daryl found himself glued to the floor as lightning lit up the horizon.

Carol continued, "I didn't know it then, but I also had you. You are a sure thing. More reliable and honorable than Ed ever was."

Any other day he may have floundered and blushed at her praise. Instead, he reminded her, "I fucked up though. A lot. And now--" It took him a few seconds to collect himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Carol, what are we gonna do about Jonathan?"

To his surprise, Carol shrugged and waved the entire situation away. "What if we just told them the truth?"

His shoulders slumped and his breath left him. "Yer kiddin'."

"No. Kenny trusts you. As for Jonathan, he's a blowhard but he doesn't have any real authority. That's what I was going to say in our room. I don't know what's out there. But I _know_ you and I _know_ this place. I'll do anything to make it work. So, if we have to expose our lie, that's what we'll do." Carol paused to pick at the paint peeling on the railing. "And...then you won't have to pretend anymore."

"Not pretend anymore?" He retreated behind his shaggy hair as he repeated her.

"Yeah," Carol confirmed. She flicked a piece of paint off the edge and slapped on a shallow smile. "No more pretending to be married. I know it hasn't been easy on you, so maybe this is our chance to get out of it."

Daryl sucked in sharply.

Was the answer to the problem really not to bind them closer together but to tear them apart? Her casual proposal suggested as much. She had married them out of fear, bound them together on a whim. Now that it had gotten too messy, they could end it on a whim. Snuff it out like a match.

On paper, it was a reasonable solution.

Instead of relaxing, a different kind of panic rattled his nerves. Stop pretending to be a husband and a father? Leave them? Be alone? An invisible vice clenched Daryl's heart and threatened to shatter it across his ribcage.

"Daryl? Are you okay? I'll come clean for us, you don't have to say anything. It is my fault, after all." She tilted her head, trying to break his focus away from his feet.

Ironic now that Carol finally brought up their problem, he silently dropped it. Daryl put aside Jonathan. He put aside the lie and exposing it. He dragged his gaze from the ground to stare at her shoes with his chest rapidly expanding and desperation clouding his reason. 

"Nah...I don't wanna. Unless you want ta."

Carol shook her head. "Daryl--"

He shook his fists. "I mean, I do. It's annoying as fuck--I don't wanna pretend..." He let out a frustrated growl and risked a glance upward.

Carol's hair was just starting to curl around her ears and he found that he liked the look. That, and so many other things about her. The slight bend to her shoulders, the delicate tips of her fingers, the way she struck a walker down with one blow, glittering with sweat. The deep sky hidden in her eyes and that light that greeted him on that boxcar so many days ago.

The same light shined in her blue gaze now, even if it was tinted with confusion. 

It's true. He wanted to stop pretending. He really did. 

He wanted to stop _pretending_ because now he actually wanted to _be_ her husband. 

It wasn't as if he had any experience, or any right to call himself that. Hell, this farce was the closest thing to a relationship he'd ever had. He didn't know what it really entailed, but damn it, he wanted to try. And then, if he was lucky, someday he could be worthy of that title. If she'd give him a chance.

"Daryl?"

"Ain't any good at this," he confessed raggedly.

"What are you talking about?"

Shaking, Daryl cupped her ear and tucked the wild curls behind it. Ever watchful, he didn't miss her soft inhale or the way her eyelashes fluttered under his touch. She didn't pull away. He couldn't help himself, his lips twisted upward just for a second. 

"Carol?"

"Yes?"

A few raindrops pattered around them. One landed on Carol's nose and he swiped it away with his thumb.

"I...don't wanna stop bein' yer husband..." 

"I...Oh!"

Pushed by the wind at his back and the desperation, he leaned in. Daryl didn't have time to ponder the surprise and understanding reflected in her gaze because she stood on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Daryl caught the corner of her curved lips, but she corrected for them, slanting her mouth over his. With a collective sigh, they spent a few breathless seconds learning each other while thunder rolled in the distance.

In the back of his mind he recognized the lazy caresses of her fingers at the nape of his neck and found his body responding the same way it had the night after installing the water pump. He sloppily pushed her up against the railing with a low growl.

Maybe he wasn't so blind and foolish when it came to women as he thought.

When they parted, she laughed. "Are we making this marriage official? And I was just about to break us up!"

He balked at her teasing and muttered, "I can still move out if you want."

"Don't be silly." She pulled the front of his shirt and kissed him again. "You can't move out now."

A knock on the balcony door interrupted the moment. Daryl jumped back as if he did something wrong, as if someone catching him kissing Carol, his supposed wife, would be cause for alarm. The ridiculousness of the situation didn't escape him. It must not have escaped Carol either because she steadied him, her eyes shining with humor.

She was braver than him and turned to greet the intruder. "Hi, sweetie," Carol said. She casually ruffled her hair, resetting the gray wisps.

Daryl couldn't decide if Sophia catching them was the best scenario or the worst scenario. Either way, he drudged up enough courage to lift his head to confirm that it was the girl on the balcony. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking for Carol to take the lead while he attempted to gather his wits.

Sophia eyed her mother and then Daryl. "You guys okay?"

Daryl coughed out, "Yeah."

Carol elbowed him lightly. "We're fine."

Unconvinced, Sophia tipped her chin upward. "If you say so."

"Do you need something, Sophia?"

"Oh! Right." The girl giggled to herself, recovered, and explained, "Mrs. Laura was looking for you, Mama. Said she needed help with something."

Carol sighed. "Alright. I'll be right there."

"She's in the kitchen," Sophia clarified, then mischief curled her lips. "Or, she was. It took me a long time to find you."

"I'm sure I'll find her." 

A loud crack of thunder split the sky above them. Sophia jumped and dashed back inside. She closed the door, but paused to observe them through the glass. Carol waved her daughter away. With a glance at the sky, Carol said, "We better go. At the very least, I can get a good gauge of the situation from Laura."

Daryl admired her ability to switch back to the issue from before. He, on the other hand, was speechless, a little drunk on that kiss and the thrill of it all.

As she tugged him toward the door and out of the increasing rain, Carol raised a brow at his flushed face. "I know I'm good but I'm not _that_ good, Daryl," she teased.

He couldn't come up with a response to that either, too stunned and _happy_. It would take him some time to fully process the line they had crossed, but for now he would take Carol's teasing without retort. When they were inside the library, Daryl turned back to the original topic of discussion. He scratched the back of his head and asked, "Are...are you gonna tell her about us? The lie I mean."

Carol considered him for a moment. "Am I going to tell her I made up our marriage?" She grinned and he was compelled to mimic her. "No, I don't think so. Not yet anyway. Why make waves if we don't have to? But we will have to figure out something to tell Jonathan to satisfy his dumb curiosity."

Daryl nodded, relieved.

The hallway was darker now but still empty. Rain pounded on the skylights. Together, they stopped at the door to their room. "Let me know how it goes," Daryl said.

"I will." She took a half step to the exit, decided against it, and came back to place her hands on his chest. "But only after you kiss me again."


	11. What They Deserve

The storm continued through the night. Around midnight, Daryl got up from his mattress and went to the table. The periodic lightning lit up the paths of rain drops on the glass and then the thunder rattled the panes seconds later. He'd witnessed countless other nights like this one, except this time his sleeplessness didn't come about because of worry, grief, or pensiveness.

He was elated.

Carol had come back with the good news that Laura had nothing to say about Daryl's lie. It was unclear if Jonathan had told her and she just didn't care, or if he just hadn't discussed it at all. Daryl figured that was the best case scenario, even if he felt foolish for panicking like he did.

He poked at the ash tray and winced when he scattered some of its contents. For a moment, he squinted at the clouds and wind, trying to read the direction of the storm. Judging it safe enough, he cracked open a window and lit a cigarette.

They were precious these days, so he breathed deep and savored it. Today was worthy of the indulgence anyway. He glanced at Carol and Sophia's room. There it was again, the way his chest tightened out of the blue. He snorted lightly at himself as he recalled the events of last evening.

His smile curled around the cigarette.

The storm shifted to just rain, steady and reassuring. As it quieted, so did his high, and the reality of the situation trickled into his thoughts.

Truly, their situation was as fragile as a paper lantern. They'd risen high and fast; one wrong move and it could burn up faster than a gasoline fire. Not long ago he was finding sluggish peace in the bottom of whiskey bottles. For someone whose life once consisted of nothing more than whatever his brother planned for that day, finding himself here, with a wife and kid in less than three months was staggering. Perhaps his most likely downfall was his inexperience. That didn't evaporate just because he decided he had feelings for them. 

Daryl abandoned his cigarette and leaned against the window frame. He sucked in the damp air and resolved, _"Don't wanna fuck it up."_

He had a lot of work to do.

* * *

Daryl eventually fell asleep once the storm had run the worst of itself past the roundhouse. He woke up to a gray sky with a thin streak of light highlighting the horizon. If he was any judge, it would be sunny come noon. It wasn't long before Carol joined him. She stretched her arms over her bed-ruffled head like a cat.

"Good morning," she said.

"Mornin'." If he had any lingering doubts about yesterday and where they stood, she silenced them with a kiss. Reassuring, even if they both bobbed their heads tentatively to start. It left him reinvigorated despite his truncated sleep.

Good thing too, because the unfinished saga with Jonathan promised to make today challenging.

"What are you doing today?" Carol asked after she had finger combed her hair.

"No plans yet." Daryl tapped a finger against the table top. He had to find Kenny today and basically beg for daily runs without actually begging or giving anything away. Before bringing it up, Daryl listened for movement from next door. Hearing nothing he said, "What are we going to tell Jonathan?"

"I've been thinking about that," Carol said as she slipped on her shoes. "He accused you of lying, so a correction is in order. What if we just say I'm the one who was mistaken and you were just trying to cover for me?"

It was simple the way she explained it. She had gotten her trips confused because they were taken very close to one another. The Erie trip was her and Sophia only. Myrtle Beach was the family vacation. Silly her, mixing her memories together, but darn it, if all those beach towns didn't look the same to her.

Daryl swallowed. "You sure you wanna throw yerself under the bus?"

"Yes. It has to be me. You were just trying to be a kind husband and go along with whatever I had said." Carol shrugged, clearly unafraid of Jonathan's suspicions. 

Daryl resigned with a nod, even if the thought of making her lie to Jonathan and Laura didn't sit right with him. He was the troublesome one and he'd liked to keep any ill thoughts away from her. 

_"Best thing ta do then is ta not fuck this up and support her."_

He crossed his arms and grimaced at the reoccurring thought. Maybe if he said it enough, it would keep him from failing back into bad Dixon habits. Angry outbursts, colorful cussing, and wild punches helped him survive before, but he couldn't rely on instant response anymore.

"Tell me about this Myrtle Beach trip then," he said softly.

"Of course."

In case anyone could overhear them, Carol framed her sentences as if they were reminiscing. It was the end of the world, after all. It made sense for families to try and remember the good times.

"Remember our first night there? It was so hot and the AC in our hotel was broken!"

"We didn't get a crab leg bucket that time because Sophia felt bad for the animals. And well, the price had gone up."

By the time Sophia woke up, Daryl knew the name of their favorite restaurant in Myrtle Beach (Joe's Crab Shack), the time mini golfing when Sophia slipped into an aqua pool of water retrieving her ball, and even the souvenirs they brought back (starfish key chains and mermaid beach towels). He repeated them several times until they felt natural.

Sophia had woken up during Carol's explanation. The girl slumped into the empty chair across from Daryl, blinking in the new day's light. After listening to the adults piece together the tale, Sophia looked at Daryl and said, "My favorite memory was when he tossed me in the waves."

"Sophia," Carol said in a hushed voice. "Did that happen?"

Sophia stuffed her hands under her thighs and said timidly, "No, but, I saw other kids and their dads doing it... We're pretending now, right?"

Daryl's heart crushed underneath the longing in Sophia's voice. 

Carol swept her daughter up in a hug. "Thank you for helping, but we are trying to stick to the truth. It's easier that way."

The girl bit her lip and wiggled in her seat. "Were you guys just pretending last night?"

Now holding her daughter at arm's length, Carol asked, "What do you mean?"

"On the balcony," the girl clarified, her gaze darting from her mother to Daryl.

A blush rushed across the back of his neck and tips of his ears. So, the girl had caught them kissing after all. Even though mother and child were speaking to each other, Daryl felt like he was the one under a microscope and every flaw had been laid bare. In a sad attempt to remove himself from the situation, he pressed himself against the back of the chair.

He and Carol exchanged a quick glance. Finding something there, the surprise in her eyes softened. Then, Carol cleared her throat. "You know our secret? How we told everyone we were a family to keep safe, to stay together?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's still the same. It's just now, Daryl and I decided we like each other too. Okay?"

"Okay." Thoughts furrowed Sophia's brow as she digested the new information. 

Satisfied, Carol stood up and declared, "Sophia, please go get us some granola bars."

"But!"

"No buts. We will meet you at the front door before you go to class."

In the following scramble to get shoes on her daughter's feet and reminding Sophia to take her backpack, Daryl crossed his arms and just tried to stay out of the way. Just like he had stayed out of the way teaching Sophia how to use a knife. Daryl chewed at his cheek; he'd done little to foster a relationship with his fake daughter and she still thought about making pleasant memories with him.

It spoke more of Ed's shitty parenting than his own skill but determination set his mouth in a firm line. He had to do better when it came to the girl.

Hell, he had to do better all the way around.

After Sophia left to gather breakfast, Carol finished her own morning preparations. "She's perceptive," Carol said with a smirk.

"Yeah...We should talk," Daryl said, eyeing her carefully. "About us."

Carol grabbed her knife. "I suppose we should. Do you want to walk the fence? I know there aren't many dead out there anymore, but we would be alone."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

* * *

In addition to softening the ground, the storm brought a cold front with it. It was chilly even for this early in the day, but it felt good for their brisk escape from the roundhouse to the fence. Daryl kept feeling for his crossbow and bag. It had been so long since he'd walked to the fence without the intention of leaving that he felt naked without his run supplies. 

"It's been awhile," he said.

Earthworms crawled across their path, still trying to escape the saturated ground. Carol stepped around a particularly fat one as she agreed, "It has."

As they had done before, they waved to Neal in the guard tower and curved to the right along the fence. It was a silent journey as Daryl struggled to decide how to start their discussion and Carol appeared satisfied to just listen to the wind. At the first moan behind the fence, Daryl instantly found a gap in the metal sheets and struck the corpse down. The physical violence came so easy to him. The softer parts of life, not so much.

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek as he struggled to find the right words.

The same uncertainty from yesterday tripped him up now, kept him silent when he needed to speak. But he continually found that Carol burned a desire in him to override his shortcomings. Because she deserved his best.

In the end, he was blatantly honest. Daryl waved a hand between them. "I ain't ever done this before."

Admitting it stung, like it proved there was something wrong with him. Maybe there was. It wouldn't be the first time in his life that his shortcomings were on full display. Daryl rushed the fence again, peeled back a metal sheet, and stabbed another unsuspecting corpse to the ground. He kept his back to her, breath held, waiting for her judgment.

Carol caught up with him and wove her fingers between his. With a little tug, Carol said, "It's okay. It's been a long time since I've dated anyone too."

Daryl dipped his head. "Carol, yer gonna hafta--"

"What? Talk to you? Call you out when you're being a jerk?" Her pretty smile softened the scold. "I've been doing that all along. This really isn't that different."

She was so good like that, meeting him where he was and using that as a starting point. It had been that way since the very beginning. She did it on the boxcar, offering him privacy and medicine even when he had been a boar. Again, when he couldn't bring himself to eat in a crowded dining hall. 

Sheepish, Daryl brushed his thumb over her hand in thanks. 

"That said, we do have to start somewhere," Carol continued as she pulled them down the fence line. A seriousness flattened her expression. "What high school did you go to?"

Daryl snorted. "Northern Georgia Regional."

Carol's eyebrows shot up. "Pfft. Lame. I was a Franklin Knight." She raised her arm as if to swing a sword.

"Pfft. You're lame."

Carol pushed him with a chuckle.

This manner of ask and answer carried them along the fence and back again. Movies, television shows, favorite foods, and first car model. What they did in high school and what came after. One could argue it was ridiculous for them to cover these minor details after everything they had gone through. Did it really matter that Daryl had a sweet tooth for Sour Patch Kids after he killed her husband and took Ed's place? At the same time, even with his inexperience, Daryl felt like this trivial exchange was a rite of passage.

And, as they followed the worn path along the fence, he found he actually enjoyed it. He liked listening to the sound of her voice free of worry. It was like honey, sweeter than any candy. After a long exchange about movies, Daryl pulled her to him. The tilt of his head asked the question and Carol answered. She cupped his cheeks and kissed him. 

"I can't believe you've never seen Ghost," Carol breathlessly lamented.

Foreheads touching, Daryl rolled his eyes at her. "Why would I watch Ghost?"

"It's a classic!"

"It's a chick flick!"

It was her turn to roll her eyes and she giggled. Parting, Carol pushed past him and with an expert strike, killed the last walking corpse that had crept up on them. 

He never would have thought there was space in this world for softness. You either constructed a strong shell around yourself, or you'd perish. Much like before in those back alley dealings with Merle. But Carol's graceful strength displayed with the knife strike went a long way to changing his mind.

She was doing that a lot lately.

Daryl scrutinized the position of the sun. Reluctantly, he said, "We should probably head back."

"I suppose so." Carol sheathed her knife. They fell into step with one another as they cut across the yard. 

"I should probably be asking Kenny for a job," Daryl said.

"Yes, that's right. Anything that will keep you away from the wall crew. I'm sure I'll see Jonathan at breakfast. I'll take care of our cover up then."

They parted at the front door, Carol to the eating area, Daryl to the back rooms where Kenny lingered these days. He paused briefly to watch her weave through the crowd, his heart swelling. Eventually, not wanting to look like a dolt, Daryl pulled himself way and ducked down the always dark hallway. He found Kenny in the map room, rolling up large papers.

"Got anything for me ta do today?"

Kenny leaned over his current map with a deep, thinking frown. "Sure yeah. Rodney's gonna be moving cars around the yard. He could use a hand."

Daryl nodded. "And the rest of the week?"

"Hunting I think. Best use of your skills." Kenny added the map to a pile, looking thoughtful. "Not that the wall ain't important but, bah. Next time you need a break, just let me know. I don' mind giving you a day off every now and then."

Daryl's stomach knotted. 

_"Jonathan lied. He didn't ask Kenny."_

He swallowed. "Sure thing, sorry 'bout that."

Kenny flicked his fingers through a few maps and just shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

The older man's ease was the only thing that slowed Daryl's rising annoyance. What the hell was Jonathan playing at? Daryl shook the thoughts away. "When's Rodney gonna start?"

Kenny leaned back to look out a window. "Should be out there now."

"I'll get to it then."

"You have my thanks."

Instead of walking out the front door, Daryl ducked out the nearest exit and took the long way around the building in the sun. Anything to avoid Jonathan and give him extra time to think. It wasn't a big deal, Kenny said so himself. So, why did Jonathan bother lying? 

_"Power play,"_ he concluded and chewed at a cuticle. _"He likes feeling like he's in charge."_

Fully risen, the sun blanketed the yard in a sweltering heat. Daryl wiped his brow as he rounded the front corner of the building. Rodney had the secondary train out in the yard and two cars to push toward the roundhouse for unloading. Heat came off the impressive vehicle in waves. Rodney poked his head out the window once Daryl was close enough.

"Just make sure everyone stays away while I move things around!"

Daryl raised a hand in acknowledgement. For the next hour, he watched the yard for roaming kids and adults. It was an easy job; they'd been living here long enough that people knew to stay away. The only thing he had to do was kick open a track switch that got stuck. Daryl was grateful for the nearly mindless task; it gave him plenty of time to mull over Jonathan.

Should he call him out?

Should he confront him?

Should he just let it go?

Daryl's fists curled when he imagined putting Jonathan on his backside. _"Just once. Show him I ain't takin' his bullshit."_

By the time Rodney finished moving the cars and Sam and Rod started unloading, his mood had soured. Damn Jonathan for his trouble. Darkly, Daryl thought, _"Not like I can get rid of him like I did Ed."_

Movement at the far end of the yard interrupted his fantasy. Sophia, Jules's kid--Ryan--, and another girl came out of the classroom caboose and sat on a nearby concrete pad. Daryl watched their progress. Rodney had just gotten the first car on the turntable and was now backing up the train. With their heads in their hands, the three kids watched the train switching tracks and pulling and pushing boxcars around the yard. 

Daryl approached the trio. "How was class?"

"Boring and now we're still bored," Sophia whined. Ryan and the younger girl echoed Sophia.

"Bored?" He spent most of his time outside the house as a kid. It was safer, quieter. The woods were a wonderland compared to the tiny patch of grass outside his parents home. Daryl glanced around the yard; there was nothing but gravel, railroad ties, and metal.

As Sophia looked up, an idea came to him. Daryl eyed the train and then patted his pockets. "I know I got some in here somewhere." 

That piqued Sophia's interest. "What do you have?"

The kids circled around him, eyes wide and hopeful. Daryl made a mental note to bring back toys on his next run. Balls and bats, kites maybe. Even he knew that kids shouldn't be so hungry for entertainment that they waited with clasped hands for a second's distraction from a gruff asshole.

"Pennies." Daryl held one between his pointer and thumb. The copper shined.

Sophia frowned. "What can we do with those?"

Daryl turned the coin over in his palm. "Spin 'em, throw 'em I guess. But you're watching trains, right? How about this? Wait here." He got Rodney's attention in the engineer's seat, who acknowledged his approach. After confirming his safety, Daryl lined the closest track with three pennies, one for each kid. Daryl walked back to the curious trio and directed, "Watch."

Rodney gave two short horn blasts and then drove the silver engine over the pennies.

"Let's go make sure they didn't fall off," Daryl said. The kids took off in front of him. "Hey! Gotta wait for the train to move."

Scolded, their sprints slowed to walks. To his surprise, Sophia held out her hand to him as he caught up. Daryl took it with a tentative grin. Together they walked to retrieve the pennies. Rodney waved out the window and the train chugged to the far end of the yard. Once Daryl was certain that he wouldn't be moving it anymore, he gave the kids the go ahead. Only then did Sophia let go and race to the track.

Ryan got to the pennies first and swiped up one. "Look at it! Mine's the shiniest."

"Now way, mine is," Sophia said. They pushed their pennies together to compare. No conclusion was reached. "What about you, Mary?"

The girl's pigtails bobbed as she jutted out her hand. Only half of her coin was pressed flat. "Mine's a little squished."

Sophia turned to Daryl and asked, "Dar--Dad, do you have more pennies?"

The title caught him off guard. The two of them, fake father and fake daughter, snapped their gazes together in a surprised panic. They both blushed. After five rapid heartbeats, the awkward moment passed as Ryan and Mary thrust their hands up at Daryl.

"Yeah! More pennies!"

"More pennies!"

Daryl cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah. I got more, but I ain't just givin' them to ya."

Their outstretched hands drooped.

"Pretty please?" Recovered, Sophia plead in unison with Mary. 

Standing strong, Daryl shook his head. "Rodney's done movin' the train today. Maybe next time."

But they were already distracted again by their treasures. Ryan flipped the small gift over in his palm and Mary ran as fast as she could to show her mother hers. He nearly yelled after her, but, he hadn't lied, Rodney was done moving the train; the biggest threat to the kid now was tripping.

"Let's head back then, huh, kiddo?" Daryl glanced down at Sophia, who nodded. Head dipped, she looped her hand into his again. The small action unleashed an overwhelming warmth in his chest.

Half way across the yard, Daryl saw Jonathan walk out of the roundhouse. The man fiddled with one of the doors. Even at this distance, when Jonathan raised his head, Daryl felt the man's attention bore into him. Daryl snarled. Maybe his reaction was stoked by already feeling protective of the girl. Maybe, the initial high after kissing Carol had finally tapered off, taking his mellow mood with it. Most likely, it was his old, ingrained instincts kicking in. Whatever it was, the annoyance from before resurfaced and quickly boiled to anger.

Daryl cursed under his breath.

One punch. That's all it would take. That would teach Jonathan a lesson. Daryl Dixon wasn't some pawn for the other man to manipulate.

The rage nearly won out. He corrected their direction and stomped toward Jonathan. One punch to the man's smug jaw. Just draw a little blood and curse him out. But when Daryl's hands tried to curl into fists, one curled around Sophia's fingers. The obstacle stopped him in his tracks. 

In a timely manner, Sophia picked that moment to speak. "Could you...sharpen my knife? Mama said it's dull."

"S--sure." He glanced back at the roundhouse, but Jonathan was gone. Daryl sighed, and then cursed himself again for even considering such a rash action. He may not have parsed together the best response to Jonathan, but punching the egomaniac wasn't the right choice. Besides, he needed to wait and see how Carol's cover up story was received.

Plus, now he had to figure out why the kid thought she needed a sharp weapon.

He led Sophia to the back corner of the roundhouse to an old bench. She handed over her knife eagerly and then sat and watched him flick his nail against the edge of the blade. It was dull, as was appropriate for a young girl barely old enough to hold it.

"You sure yer Ma wanted it sharpened?"

"It's supposed to be sharp, right?" She shrugged unevenly; it gave away her fib. 

Daryl conceded, bobbing his head. "No doubt. It's a weapon, after all." He pushed the knife closed, pressed the release, and opened it again. "You gonna start walkin' the fence with yer Ma?"

She shook her head.

"Then what do ya need a sharp knife for?"

Sophia squared her jaw. "Mr. Jonathan said this place is safe but then you and Mama said we needed to be prepared. So, I want to be prepared."

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat. Determination blazed within him; no kid should be concerned with fighting off the dead. "You leave that ta me."

"But--"

"Nah. Yer Ma will protect ya if need be and I'll protect both of you." He handed the dull knife back to her.

She put the knife back in her sheath, now quiet. Together, they sat for a moment and took in the deep orange horizon. Sophia swung her legs and it reminded him of just how young she was and how small. 

Suddenly, Sophia said, "I'm glad you killed my Dad."

Daryl sucked in so fast his lungs burned. On his exhale he rasped, "Aw, kid. I wish I didn't have to."

It was like a stab to his chest. This four foot nothing child speaking with such conviction about her father's demise. He had just seen her delighted by pennies on a train track. She shouldn't have to feel happy about replacing her monster of a father with an asshole redneck.

And yet, she was.

"He was bad," Sophia whispered the simple justification as she tipped over to lean against Daryl's arm. 

Overcome with emotion, he promptly tucked Sophia against his side. "I know. I wish he hadn't been, but, yeah, I'm glad he's gone too."

Fuck Ed.

And fuck Jonathan.

He'd never consider himself the hero. That much hadn't changed. But with Sophia at his side and her mother's affection waiting for both of them, Daryl thought he could firmly believe he was a better man than them.

 _"Good thing too,"_ he mused, glancing down at Sophia again. He couldn't give her and her mother the world. But he would scrap and fight for any good thing they wanted. They deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously made up those school names. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


	12. It Crumbles

It was nearly dark by the time Daryl and Sophia heard the dinner bell.

"Come on, kid. Let's go." Daryl held her hand as she jumped down from the bench and together they walked to the front of the roundhouse. A glow emanated from an open door and soon enough they found the source: dozens of candles on the dinner tables. Carol sat across from Jonathan, hands folded neatly in front of her. Daryl stiffened as he tried to get a read of their conversation. Looked friendly enough. It was only when Carol got up with a polite smile and came to them that he relaxed.

"Hi," Carol said. "I was wondering where you two were."

"Daryl showed us how to make flat pennies," Sophia explained, displaying her coin.

Carol appropriately cooed over the treasure before nodding at the table. "Something went wrong in the kitchen today, I think the fire kept going out. So, it's a late, romantic dinner."

"Looks nice," Daryl said out of obligation to respond. He cleared his throat and tipped his head slightly to Jonathan with a silent question.

Carol licked her lips. "I think we're going to be fine."

She led them to where Jonathan was seated, now with a bowl of soup and a hunk of bread in front of him. Daryl swallowed. Part of him hoped she would whisk them away to a different table, but another part of him was already steeled for this possibility. This meeting was as inevitable as the hangover after a heavy night of drinking. 

He still hadn't decided how to confront Jonathan with his lie about asking Kenny, but by the time they reached the table, it was too late to come up with an answer. Cautioning himself, Daryl decided it was conversation best had alone and not in a crowded room. Daryl grunted a greeting and focused on getting Sophia fed. Although Jonathan always put him on edge, had ever since the man commanded the crowd, Daryl forced himself to loosen up.

When Daryl went to tear a piece of bread off of the center loaf for Sophia, Jonathan spoke. "I think I owe you an apology, Daryl."

Daryl's hand paused for a split second before he handed Sophia the bread. Sophia thanked him after stuffing it in her mouth. He huffed lightly at her. The extra second gave him time to compose himself.

Keeping his tone even, Daryl responded, "What for?"

"For giving you a hard time about Erie." Jonathan was back to his chipper, friendly tone. He looked appropriately abashed as he swirled his bread in the juices at the bottom of his bowl. "Carol told me she mixed up vacations."

"Oh, that. Don't worry about it." Daryl straightened in his seat and forced himself to eat against his stomach's wishes. Even though the conversation was going better than he expected, his left foot twitched.

"Thanks for understanding."

Laura slid in beside her husband just as Carol took her place on Sophia's opposite side. The two chattiest people, Carol and Jonathan, took over the conversation. Daryl chimed in when appropriate, making sure to look for any drastic change in Jonathan's expression. Jonathan remained chummy. Daryl offered to get everyone water refills; it was an excuse to step away for a moment and shake out the nervousness.

In a rare appearance, Kenny rang the dinner bell midway through the meal. The room quieted. "Just a quick announcement! Finally got those shower stalls up and running. They'll be ready starting tomorrow morning. We'll come up with some sort of schedule. Can't have ya'll bickering over it," Kenny joked and then waved down the rowdy, excited cheers.

"That's what I did today," Jonathan said after Daryl set down the refilled cups. 

"Sorry, what was that?" Daryl asked.

"The showers." Jonathan beamed. "Kenny and I got the water running today to the stalls and he gave me and Laura first dibs on the showers." He slapped his hand on the table. "Let me tell you, they're amazing!"

"Tell him what else, Jon," Laura said, excitedly.

"Kenny gave me a bottle of whiskey as thanks!"

It wasn't haughty enough to be called a brag. Except that's all Daryl could read it as. He came to a couple of conclusions then. First, Daryl wondered if it was a mistake for Kenny to offer prizes and treats for extra work. The beer stash was long gone, but with the nightly train runs Double Rod were bringing back specialty items that Kenny could use as payment. That practice would continue for the foreseeable future.

Second, Jonathan not only wanted to be involved with the goings on at the roundhouse, he also very much wanted to be recognized for it. He wanted to feel important. That drive had been buried in all his annoying questions about how Kenny was paying him and anytime Jonathan tried to influence the crowd. Maybe too, when he tried to command Daryl's day, instead of respecting Kenny's authority. 

So, third, if that's what it took to placate this asshole, so be it. Daryl put on a tight smile and said, "Good for you."

Jonathan beamed brightly.

Him and Jonathan would always stand on rocky ground with each other. Jonathan was everything he was not, charismatic, charming, an extrovert. Daryl would never forget how quickly the man had turned on him due to a misunderstanding. He refused to constantly puff up Jonathan's ego and therefore would draw ire every time he failed to compliment any small perceived achievement. 

At the same time, as he sat across from his temporarily appeased antagonist, Daryl felt like he had crested a hill and now could reap the benefits of the climb. With him and Carol together and his bond with Sophia growing, the family man act was no longer an act. As novel as it was, there was affection and genuine concern. Therefore, his biggest weakness was mitigated and the situation with Jonathan was resolved.

That was good enough...for now.

Daryl finally shook out the last of the lingering tension, picked up his own piece of bread, and dug in.

* * *

The dinner candles went out one by one. At first Sam struck matches and relit them, but it was a losing battle; people went to bed, most recognizing that wasting matches on a few extra minutes of light was frivolous. 

Over the glow of their last candle, Daryl, Carol, and Sophia bid Jonathan and Laura goodnight. Daryl stood up from the table without a knot in his stomach; he and Jonathan were oil and water, but at least now they could exist in the same space. From the sound of it, Jonathan had found his in with Kenny. The man could earn all the praise and prizes he wanted, whatever got him off.

Out of habit, Daryl side-eyed Jonathan's departure before following Carol and Sophia upstairs, but Jonathan had already moved to another source of attention.

Their room was dark and hot. Carol opened a few of the windows in hope of inviting in a breeze. When she backed away, she rolled her shoulder. Daryl caught her wince out of the corner of his eye. His fingers twitched, eager to help.

By the time Carol got Sophia into bed, he'd worked up the courage to ask, "Want help with yer shoulder?"

She parted her mouth before snapping it shut. With a shake of her head, Carol took a seat at their table and fixated on the night sky. She straightened her back and folded her hands on her lap. She then whispered, "Yes, I'd like that."

It was easy to find the knot. His right thumb pressed it gently and then when she didn't sigh, he pressed a little harder.

"That's good," Carol moaned.

"We gotta start stretchin' after walking the fence," he said to break his singular focus from her shoulder and to keep the mood light. Daryl added a second thumb and Carol tucked her head to her chest.

"Agreed. But this is also nice."

He blushed at the smirk in her voice. 

Inch by inch, he explored the base of her neck before going back to the troublesome knot. When she didn't protest he ventured further, working both sides of her spine. Her little moans of pleasure were all the encouragement he needed.

It was strange, this satisfaction with the quiet touches. He was still trying to piece together exactly what it meant. Merle always described his relationships with the carnal at the forefront. Breasts, ass, pussy. Get some. Get off. Never did Daryl think a man could crave the foreplay too. It wasn't like he didn't feel that arousal. He was very aware of the tug under his belt that accompanied each of Carol's low hums and the softness of her skin against his calloused fingers.

If she turned around and so much as kissed him, he'd swoop her up and drop her on his bed.

But this was good too. Seeing her melt under his touch did funny things to his heart.

Eventually, before he could muster the words to push things further, Carol patted his hands and murmured her thanks. She got up and stretched. "I should have asked you sooner."

Empty, he fisted his hands at his sides to prevent himself from touching her. "Well, ya know where I am."

"Very true." 

Even in the dark, he caught her trailing her eyes over his body, a little quirk to her mouth. It must have been his imagination, but he thought she was about to say something. Another tease, maybe a suggestion. Shadows shifted across the planes of her collarbone as Carol placed a hand over his heart. 

"Good night," Carol said, bestowed a chaste kiss, and then retreated to the side room.

"Night," he responded, nearly too late. It was difficult to speak through his tight throat. Once her door clicked shut he took to the open window, hoping for relief from the heat coursing through his body.

* * *

The next morning, Carol and Sophia were gone before he woke up. He puttered around the room, grabbing his bag and weapons for his scheduled hunt. When they didn't come back, he buried his disappointment and left the room. It wasn't until he was halfway down the hallway that an answer came to him: the showers were open.

_"They musta went early to avoid the rush."_

He skipped breakfast and picked a shady picnic table outside where he could sharpen his knives in peace. After he finished one, Daryl tipped his head back and breathed deeply. Grease, iron, and body odor had become synonymous with life at the roundhouse. What was once considered a gross smell now defined safety. It wasn't even worth noting anymore, it was just Genesis. That was why when he caught a whiff of lavender and honey it hit him like a hurricane. He glanced up from the repair work on his crossbow and found Carol.

She busied herself buffing out her hair with a towel as she enclosed the gap between them. She had a fresh set of jean shorts and a sleeveless blouse that he had found a few weeks ago. Please that it fit her, he grinned.

"How's that shower?"

Hey eyelashes fluttered, "Glorious. The water pressure isn't great but, god did it feel good to stand under running water!"

Daryl scratched at the layer of grime on his forearms. "I bet. Where's Sophia?"

"I just took her to class after breakfast." Carol eyed his handiwork. A lone droplet of water dripped from her hair to the picnic table. "Turns out we didn't need to rush to the showers, there wasn't much of a line. Kenny decided the ladies get to use them today. Guys can start tomorrow. I think Laura took over setting up a schedule."

His mood soured a bit. "Of course she did."

"Hey, at least Jonathan didn't spray paint his name all over the stalls."

Daryl snorted. "'M sure he thought about it though." 

Carol swatted at him playfully. "Are you leaving soon?" 

"Soon as I finish this." He gestured to his crossbow and second knife with a lazy wave. The urgency to leave had diminished since she had walked over. It was early enough that he could wait a bit and still snag dinner. 

"Be careful," she warned.

"Always."

She paused with her fingers buried in her hair, a sly but hopeful twist to her mouth. "I don't know if you heard, but they brought back a caboose the other day."

He nodded. The dark red train car had appeared in the yard over night. After eavesdropping a bit, he discovered Kenny and Rod brought it back the night before during one of their outings. Daryl hadn't given it much thought.

"Well, the kids are having a sleepover in it tonight. One of the other mom's, Jackie, thought it would be fun. And I was wondering, well..." she trailed off, blushing. "Maybe you sneak into the showers and then we could use the empty room to our advantage?"

Lavender, honey, and _Carol_ flooded his lungs as he inhaled sharply and held that breath incase she retracted her statement with a joking giggle. Carol trickled her fingertips down his bare arm, mimicking shower droplets. His head spun in a dizzying mix of surprise and want. 

He swallowed hard, forgot about the grime on his hands and grabbed one of hers to plant a kiss on her palm. "Y-yeah," he managed to say after a moment. "I can do that. Be happy to--"

Her giggle cut off his rambling and they both laughed at each other's giddiness.

"It's a date then. You better get going then! Have a good hunt." After a lavish wink, Carol sashayed toward the building. 

Daryl squinted at the high sun and puffed his cheeks out with a sigh. Once he had regained his composure, he did quick work to finish his weapon maintenance and hurried outside. Usually the day passed quickly outside the fence, when it was just him surrounded by the rustle of grass and bird calls. 

_"Hours are gonna crawl today,"_ he inwardly bemoaned, but couldn't stop grinning at the thought of what would be waiting when he returned.

* * *

Soaked in sweat, Daryl smacked his lips and headed to the water spigot figuring he'd beat the dehydration before dinner. He'd caught two rabbits despite being semi-distracted all afternoon; Carol's proposal entwined itself into every one of his muscles and thoughts. Frenzied desire was hampered only by the need to not fuck it up. He had plucked a small bunch of wildflowers for her on his way back. Now, the tiny purple trumpets and yellow daisies stuck out of his breast pocket like a boutonniere.

It was quiet, an hour or two before dinner. Double Rod talked in hushed tones, probably about the logistics of the next project. Rod had a pencil tucked behind his ear and a small notepad in his hand. A decision made, the two men dashed down the back hallway, both nodding at Daryl as they passed. 

There were a few people upstairs. Daryl could see their shadows moving in the hallway, maybe heading for a quick nap before eating. That, or, people were at work on the library. It was up there that he spied Carol, busy with Laura, her arms overflowing with books.

His stupid grin came back.

Later, he would curse himself for being distracted. All heart eyes and his cursed-loud, over eager heart. He got to the back of the dining area and threw his bag down next to the spigot. He quickly dipped his hands in the overflow bucket to get the worst of the dirt from between his fingers. Then, Daryl finally went to take a drink.

He was bent under the spigot when it happened.

He should have seen it coming.

He was surrounded before the first drop of water hit his tongue. These weeks had turned him soft, let him believe they were all on the same side. Jonathan? The man was nosey, but dangerous? No way. Maybe the guys at the wall were indifferent to him, but surely they weren't hostile.

A whiff of alcohol was the only warning.

The punch blindsided him.

"We know what you did!" Jonathan yelled in his ear. He kicked the overflow bucket and the plastic shattered with a loud crack.

Daryl's cheek splashed in a puddle. Wet grit and iron mixed into the metallic smell of blood. Dazed, Daryl blinked. It didn't take him long to regain his awareness. He raked his fingers along the floor to secure his purchase for a counterattack.

Meanwhile, Jonathan continued his assault verbally. "And I--we--won't stand for it! This is a safe place. There's no room for assholes like you!"

Daryl spat, "The fuck you talking about?" 

He slowly got up to his elbows and then wobbled onto a knee. His stomach dropped; there were four of them, large men who worked the wall. If he tried, Daryl was sure he could name them, but for now they were faceless monsters. Except for their leader. Jonathan took point, a haughty sneer ruining his classic good looks.

"My wife saw Carol's scars," he declared.

The simple sentence burned across Daryl's skin, flaring and settling in his breast bone, brittle and tight.

"No--," he fumbled like an idiot and backed up until he was against the wall.

Jonathan closed in. Daryl ducked under the next punch and then landed a strong uppercut. His knuckles tingled. In the back of his head, his inner animal screeched, _"You were right to distrust Jonathan."_

The victory was short lived. When Jonathan staggered, the three others moved in. Each kick and punch resurfaced a memory of a time he'd snapped at Carol since they've arrived, each time he didn't sit with her and Sophia at dinner. He thought he was saving their image by avoiding social blunders. In the end, it was the foundation for distrust.

Survival kicked in and helped him land a second good jab to Jonathan's jaw and a savage kick to a secondary attacker. Then the world lit up with stars as a third attacker struck his head. Another nailed him square in the chest. Daryl took forever to fall, flopping on the ground with a wet smack. Each breath was like inhaling glass. They were really going to kill him for horror he hadn't committed, for a evidence he'd never even laid eyes on.

The whiskey created a bold flush across Jonathan's nose and cheeks. He shook a superior finger at Daryl and cackled. "I thought there was something wrong about you. Always acting like you had something to hide."

Daryl wheezed. He raised his hands to cover his face and franticly searched for cover.

"What are you doing!" 

Daryl blinked but his vision had gone blurry. He wiped dirt from his face and used the lull to scurry away from the direction of the last punch. Something cool brushed over his head but he flinched away from the contact. He could smell her before he could see her. Lavender. Carol.

"Daryl, it's me." He recognized the sweep of her fingers over his forehead. He emitted a pathetic sound.

A large pair of boots came into Daryl's field of vision, accompanied by Jonathan's voice. "Carol. There's no need for you to be with him anymore."

She formed a thin shield between his attackers and him. Her voice was iron when she asked, "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

Daryl snarled something incomprehensible as he tried to put himself between her and Jonathan. His cried out shamefully when his knee scraped the ground. She wouldn't let him move much more than that, however. Carol placed a firm arm across his chest. Again she asked, "What are you talking about, Jonathan?"

Jonathan spoke as if he was talking to a scared animal, or someone stupid. The specific flow of sentences got lost in the throbbing in his head, but Daryl followed the logic. 

Showers. Laura was in the showers with Carol.

Scars. Laura saw flashes of the damage on Carol, knew what they were, cigarette burns, and, terrified for her friend, reported it to Jonathan.

Jonathan took it to his friend group. Clearly it was her husband, they all determined. It made sense. Daryl smoked, they'd all seen him. He was the rough asshole who ate alone, who couldn't remember a family vacation. Who wasn't part of their group.

It was very straight forward, they insisted. Clear as day.

"Society may have failed you, but we can make it right."

"Oh, shut up." Carol smacked away Jonathan's hand. 

"Carol!" Jonathan pled.

Daryl attempted to stand but the weak effort turned into just a roll to his side. 

"Stay still." She looped her arms around him. Daryl heard a pair of thunderous steps approaching and flinched again. Only Carol's presence kept him still. She got him to sit against the wall. Through the haze, he heard her call, "Rod! Rodney, please help me."

"Carol," Jonathan tried again.

She smacked him. "Get the fuck away from us!"

"Carol, please. Would you rather talk to Laura?"

"You nosey asshole!" Her voice quivered for just a second. "Guess what, you are right! My husband gave me those scars. He _was_ a terrible monster." Her declaration echoed through the dining hall, loud and clear. Carol pressed on, "And you know what happened to him? He's dead. Dead on the side of the tracks outside of Atlanta like he _deserves_. Daryl saved me from him. He'd never hurt me."

"But..."

"'But' nothing." Carol jabbed sharply at Jonathan. "You don't know _anything_. You don't get to...dispense justice on a self-satisfying hunch!"

A stunned silence washed over the entire room. If his chest didn't feel like it was caving in, Daryl would have laughed at the way the men shrunk from her. Jonathan gaped like a fish, looking stupid as the alcohol softened his features.

The next few minutes dragged. Carol got Rod and Rodney to lift Daryl upright and carry him upstairs. Pride begged him to turn down the help. It was a sign of weakness, an opening for enemies to exploit. Besides, this wasn't the first time he got a few punches to the gut and head. Going to the bar with Merle was good for that. But when he tried to wave off the concern, Daryl hissed instead. 

The stairs were agony and the deathly silence in the dining hall followed them until they eased him into his bed. It wasn't a smooth transition, he remembered knocking his knee on the tiled floor and whimpering. Once propped up in bed, he was ready to answer for himself, but Carol cut him off with a stern look.

 _"Let me fight this one,"_ her stare said. He found it easier to relent than he expected.

"You going to be okay?" Rod asked hesitantly. "I can bring up some bandages for the cuts."

"Yes, please," Carol said in a hoarse whisper.

The large man shared a glance with his partner. "Kenny's going to hear 'bout this."

"He needs to pay," Carol hissed with all the venom of ten snakes.

"Jonathan won't go unpunished. I'll make sure of it," Rodney said. "Though, I feel like you'll have to explain some parts of it yourselves." Carol opened her mouth to demand more, but Rodney cut her off. "Don't get me wrong. Something will be done. It's just that...this is obviously more complicated than a drunk mishap."

"Alright," Carol resigned only when Daryl gave her arm an encouraging pat. 

Rod looked at the two of them and nodded. "I'm gonna round up Jonathan and those others now. Lock 'em up somewhere or something. Fuckin' bullshit, accusing someone of somethin' like that."

"We better get to it then," Rodney said with his hands on his hips. "We'll check in later and bring those bandages."

The two men left with ashen faces. Carol jumped up to lock the door and then added a pillow behind Daryl. She shook her head slowly, touched the gash on his forehead, and then broke into tears.

"Stop, hey. Stop." He patted her hand, then curled his fingers around hers. Blood and sweat dripped over his eye. His entire body was one giant bruise but all he wanted was to crush her against him.

"It's my fault." She wiped his forehead tenderly and then knelt next to the bed. Sniffling, Carol buried her face into the mattress.

"Look at me," he croaked. "Carol, please."

She finally glanced up at him with watery eyes. Along with the rest of his body, his heart ached severely.

"It ain't. It ain't yer fault." He fumbled for her hand, his aim off due to the swelling around his eye.

"Daryl, it was me being reckless in the showers--"

"Nah." The need for comfort overwhelmed the physical pain. He dragged her alongside him in bed and buried his head in the crook of her neck. Lavender, honey, _Carol_. Relief and gratitude washed over him. "You saved me."

In more ways than one. Maybe someday he would write them all down and recite them to her. Then she'd know how she changed an aimless redneck's life.

Carol muttered, "It did feel good to hit him."

He barked out a laugh which turned into a cough. Carol rubbed circles across his back, half chuckling, half apologizing. Once he had the cough under control, Carol nested beside him. He took a deep breath. It was uncomfortable, but it lacked a stabbing pain. His knee might take a while to full heal, but it was mostly bruises and scratches, nothing more. That small comfort quickly soured. Daryl fisted the sheets, his thoughts immediately turning to revenge.

"'M gonna kill 'im," Daryl whispered.

"He's going to be kicked out, right? Kenny couldn't possibly let him stay."

"He better not!"

If Kenny kicked Marcus out for theft, surely Jonathan would too for assault. The image of a dejected Jonathan screaming and pleading from the other side of the fence felt nearly as good as the bed under his body. It wouldn't feel nearly as good as doing it himself. Maybe Kenny would let Daryl have a go at Jonathan before pushing him out the gate.

"We have Rod and Rodney on our side," Carol reasoned. "They saw what happened."

Daryl grunted an agreement, anger still simmering in his chest. In another time, despite his injures, he would have jumped up right then and there to hunt his assailant down. Nobody ever got the better of a Dixon without living to regret it.

 _"Don't be stupid,"_ he chided himself even though he'd come a long way from that part of his life. He leaned his head against Carol's and relished the comfort the small touch brought. He took a slow breath, resolving to get his revenge, but to do it smartly.

"When they get back with bandages, I'm going to have to go get Sophia. I--" Carol paused to dig her palms into her eyes. "What a mess!"

Wincing, Daryl snaked his arm around Carol's shoulders and hugged her to him. "We're gonna be fine."

Carol let out a heavy sigh. "Yes. I know."

The exchange soothed both of them, just for the moment. The fight wasn't over. Another struggle was ahead, but for right now, for the next few minutes, they sat in silence and found strength in each other.

* * *

At some point he drifted off. Sometime later, he cracked open one eye, then the other when he registered the dimness as twilight. Carol was gone from his side. A twang went up his spine and he jolted upright. His knee sharply protested, but he noticed it had been wrapped. There was a bandage around his head too. Daryl grunted as he waited for the pain to dull to a throb. 

"Everyone's outside."

He jumped. It took him a moment to find the kid in the shadows, her small form shaking.

Sophia wrapped her arms around herself. "There are so many of them."

A weird sound hummed outside, like a thousand gears grinding together or maybe a swarm of bees. Most likely, his ears were just ringing, but Sophia shivered with fear. His gut plummeted. Moving shot stars across his vision, but he crawled his way to Sophia's side to wrap what he hoped was a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders.

"I'm scared," she admitted and pointed outside.

Temples throbbing, he hobbled to the window. 

Thousands of the dead were pressed against the fence and the wall. Small shadows ran back and forth on the inside; people inspecting, people panicking. He thought one was Kenny, but he couldn't be sure. 

Sophia joined him with a sniffle. Together, they gasped as a section of the chain link fence buckled and the dead swarmed up against the brick wall.

"Where's yer Ma?" He spun around without thinking, looking for Carol, as if she was hiding in the back room. Instead, he only found his crossbow and his knives. His world spun. He staggered.

"Outside with everyone else. The...they had to get my friends out of the caboose."

His mouth went dry.

"Stay here. I'll be back," he promised and ran out the door.


	13. Don't Make a Sound

Heart pounding, Daryl raced down the stairs as fast as his knee would allow. It wasn't nearly fast enough. He wobbled on each step. Daryl flung his crossbow across his back with a savage growl and dragged himself down the remaining stairs with his free hand on the railing. The floor was only a little easier to navigate.

_"Gotta help Carol."_

With the sun now set behind the building, the dining room was dark. A few candles had been lit in haste; one had tipped over, leaked wax, and then was snuffed out. A group of women sobbed at an open train door. Dodging their pointed fingers, Daryl pushed them out of the way and looked out into the yard.

"They're out there." One woman yelled in his ear.

"My baby!" Another said.

Across the yard, a group of rescuers raced toward the caboose. By some stroke of luck, the caboose car was parked on the opposite side of the yard from the dead. With a quick assessment, he rubbed his knee, and noted that Jonathan was missing from the rescue group. Parents, Rodney, and Kenny too were nearly there, with Carol leading the way. The little bit of relief he felt reduced the sting in his lungs; she was alive and Double Rod kept their word about speaking to Kenny. Jonathan must be locked up somewhere.

From the right side of his vision the mass of the dead continued to pour in from the hole in the fence. Gun shots rang out into the horde now lurching toward the caboose. Kenny had a weapon raised. Other shots erupted from the guard tower--Neal finally having no shortage of targets. The corpses had yet to turn their hungry gazes to the roundhouse. 

But if his companions kept screaming, they'd soon have the dead banging on the front door too.

Daryl's head pounded. His knee threatened to give out. He wished he could run as fast as his thoughts flew. At light speed, he crafted a plan. Close the door, keep the dead away from the front. Get to the caboose. Survive despite his bum knee, his swollen eye, his bruised body.

_"Gotta get Carol. Gotta get her safe."_

He grabbed the nearest body--Samantha. "Close this door behind me. Do you understand? Lock the other train doors." She finally nodded at him when he shook her shoulder.

His fingers slipped as he loaded his crossbow. "I'm gonna go help 'em. We'll come in the back door."

"Okay. Yes. Yes," Samantha wrung her hands but didn't move.

"Sam!"

"I got it!" She shoved him out the door. 

He stumbled. Cursing, he righted himself and was comforted briefly by the sound of Samantha calling out tasks over his shoulder. He set his course for the caboose. Jogging over rails and gravel was perilous on a normal day, at a sprint with a bum knee it bordered on impossible. The only thing that propelled him forward was Carol and the kids stuck in the caboose. 

The dead were a wall of hungry flesh coming in from the right. He was half way across the yard when one corpse wandered too close and he had to shoot it. The bolt shattered as the corpse hit the ground. 

Behind him a train door let out an ear splitting creak. The horde split. Half to the very visible food source and half to the loud noise.

Daryl bit his lip, drew blood, and willed his body to move faster.

Kids poured out of the caboose and into their parents' arms. The cluster of people turned as a single entity to face the horde. Another gun shot. Neal shot again from the guard tower and drew a few more of the corpses his way.

"Carol!" Daryl yelled to get their attention off of the dead and toward him.

Another corpse got too close, its mouth gaping and hungry. He planted his foot, skidded, and stabbed it in the shoulder. His knee collapsed and the corpse fell down on top of him. It bit at his throat but caught its teeth on his knife blade. With a growl, Daryl grabbed his other knife and struck its temple. He threw it off him, heaving.

"Daryl!"

Relief washed over him. Carol rushed to his side, still leading the pack of children and parents. Double Rod each carried two kids. Jules had his son over his shoulder. Two older children cried, their hands clasped tightly in Jackie's grasp. Kenny's grim gaze was glued to the encroaching dead.

Daryl stood up, ignoring the sharp pain in his knee. "I told Samantha to leave the back door open. Come on!" He was already leading them to the back of the building by the time he stopped talking. They ran over tracks, skidded on gravel, and dashed across the turntable.

The dead came close. Closer. Also stumbling over the train tracks, but not hindered by pain. 

Daryl's knee throbbed when he stopped at the corner of the roundhouse. He pushed Jackie in front of him. "It ain't far!" 

Jules dashed passed him.

Then Kenny and Rodney and Rod.

Carol fell in at his side and together they dashed down the back side of the building. His stomach dropped as the group huddled outside the door. Jules franticly banged on it, a loud dinner bell for the dead. The first three shambling corpses rounded the corner. Wedged between the back fence and the building, the dead had nowhere to go except toward them.

"Open up!"

"Let us in!"

Daryl shoved them aside. "Move! It opens outward."

The door cracked open. Daryl yanked it wider and shoved Carol inside right into Samantha's arms. Rodney dropped the kids from his arms and they took off running inside, nearly toppling Jules over in their haste. Kenny stood gaping as the rest of the kids and parents pushed past him.

Rodney yelled, "Get inside, Kenny!"

The big man drew his gun and fired into the horde. One head exploded. Then another just over Kenny's shoulder.

The engineer screamed. Daryl grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him into the building. Then, together with Rodney, they took out four of the dead. The pile of bodies created enough of a tripping hazard for the other corpses to give them the time they needed. Rodney and Daryl finally ducked into the door and slammed it shut. 

Thankfully, Sam had thought to grab a flashlight. She locked the door's dead bolt and gestured with the light. "Put the cabinet against it," she said.

Daryl and Rodney jumped out of the way as two women pushed a file cabinet against the door. They all held their breath as the dead banged on the entryway. Kenny winced with each skeletal hand that scratched and clawed. 

The door did not budge.

"Fuck," Kenny breathed, reached for his cap, but found it gone. "Fuck."

"Agreed," Rodney let out a heavy sigh.

In a steady voice, Sam said, "There are more file cabinets in the map room. Let's barricade the door."

"What about the front doors?" Daryl asked, turning to crane his neck down the hallway. He stumbled. Carol caught him against the wall.

"We already got those," Same said. "I have a few people upstairs looking for any other heavy pieces of furniture that we can spare."

"Thank you, Sam. And Daryl." Kenny nodded at them, tried to adjust his cap again, and cursed. "Let's all meet in the dining hall, huh? We gotta...talk this over."

After stacking several file cabinets against the back door, the group dispersed in sniffles and tears. Sam and Rodney followed Kenny to further brace the large train doors, all ten of them. Left alone in the dark hallway, Daryl finally wrapped an arm around Carol.

"You alright?" He asked into her shoulder.

"Yes." Her breath was hot and alive and so close on his neck. 

He tipped her chin upward, searching for any sign of injury or distress. Satisfied with what he found, he dropped his head to her shoulder and shuddered. "I woke up and you weren't there. Sophia told me about the kids. I had ta make sure..." 

"Worried about me?" She cupped his head and lifted it from her shoulder. With a tender touch, she brushed the hair from his eyes. "You're the one who taught me how to fight."

"Nah," he huffed. "You already knew how to do that."

She smirked, stood on her toes, and kissed him. 

Shadows passed back and forth in the dining hall. All the nervous energy funneled into barricades, food counting, questioning. What would happen when there was nothing to do but wait? Kenny and Rodney were doing their best to direct people. Any hysteric outbursts were promptly silenced. They all needed to be on the same page to survive this. One weak link and the dead would overwhelm their defenses.

Daryl selfishly took the time to cradle Carol against him for a few seconds longer.

"Come on. We better go help," he said when they parted.

"You should rest."

"'M fine," he insisted.

A loud series of knocking came from down the hallway. They both flinched. Another rapid round of knocking was accompanied by someone saying, "Hey! What's going on? Let me out!"

Daryl's hands folded into fists. "Jonathan," he spat. With a nod he and Carol approached the door.

"Hello?" 

Even muffled by the metal door, Daryl could identify the sound of his attacker. For a second, his anger got the best of him. He slammed his palms against the locked door. "Shut the fuck up."

There was a long pause. "Daryl."

"Shut up," Daryl repeated, his voice now a low simmer. The only thing keeping him from smacking the door again was Carol's grip on his wrist.

"What's going on?" Jonathan tried again. 

Daryl hissed into the door crack, "Stay quiet. Or I'll feed ya to the dead outside."

Jonathan paced and shuffled, but gave up. It was the smartest thing he'd ever done. Daryl smirked at the ensuing silence. With a stiff nod, he linked his fingers with Carol's and pulled them to the dining area. 

As selfish as it was, Daryl needed to find out Kenny's plan for Jonathan.

_"Cuz if he don' got one, I can come up with somethin'."_

* * *

"Alright, everyone gather in." Kenny wiped the sweat from his forehead. There were bags under his eyes and a grim set to his jaw. Everyone moved closer, Jules and Jackie, all the parents and their kids. Rodney had abandoned his usual post next to Kenny to stand at the front of the crowd with Samantha.

Sophia had come down from the room and threw herself into her mother's arms. Daryl stood protectively behind them and tried not to give away his weak stance. His damn leg shook. But before Kenny could speak again, Carol directed Daryl to the staircase and made him sit with just a look. He huffed, but squeezed her hand in thanks.

Up on the raised platform, Rod gave his boss a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Kenny nodded. "I don't have much ta say. We all know what's outside. They're pinned in by the fence with only that small opening so they're not wanderin' off like they should. I think our best bet is ta just stay quiet...and ah..."

Seeing Kenny falter, Rodney spoke up, "We have enough food in here for a couple of weeks." He nodded at Daryl and a few others who went out for canned goods. The poor chickens were definitely corpse food, but the pantry was stocked well enough. "And we did a pretty good job with that water hose, so baring some calamity we should still have water."

The reception was mixed. Jules bobbed his head, taking in Rodney's assurance. He even cracked a smile. Jackie fed off her husband's positivity, but Laura's face showed little to no emotion. She wasn't the only one either. All the blank stares and parted mouths looked no better than the dead outside.

 _"They're in shock,"_ Daryl concluded.

"As Rodney said." Kenny found his voice again and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The dead moans took over each pause, each break in Kenny's speech. The walls squeezed in around them, the large building now not large enough. "No reason to worry just yet. So let's get cozy, let's keep quiet."

Thankfully, most people had enough sense to heed Kenny's directions. Those who spoke louder than a whisper received icy glares from others. For a few moments, everyone seemed to just look about the room, taking stock of who was at their side. As people began to crawl upstairs, Daryl got different kinds of glances, some embarrassed, some curious. Word had gotten around then that Jonathan and some of his asshole friends tried to beat him up. He wasn't the only one; Carol was also on the receiving end of a few sideways looks.

It was better than Laura, however. Everyone ignored her.

One of the train doors rattled. The reminder scared more people out of the dining hall and upstairs to their rooms. Daryl eyed the front of the roundhouse and its ten entry points. The doors weren't designed to withstand an attack, but they weren't flimsy either. The advantage of residing in a house for trains was that the structure was built with heavy industry in mind. 

They just needed to keep the pressure off the doors. 

The last person downstairs was Kenny, who approached Daryl and Carol with open hands.

"Daryl." Kenny greeted. "I'm so glad yer alright. Double Rod told me what happened."

Daryl waved away his concern. "What are you goin' ta do about Jonathan?"

Again, Kenny went for his cap, but remembering it was gone, sighed. He licked his lips and said, "I...I don't know yet."

The swelling over his eye twitched. Daryl hissed, "Kick 'im out! He fuckin' came at me for no goddamn reason other than he's a jealous, nosy, son-of-a-bitch!"

"I know, I know. I promise I'll figure it out." Kenny franticly patted his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. "But I gotta tell ya, the dead outside are a bit more worrisome than Jonathan right now." It took him three times to light it. Kenny's hand shook as he smoked.

Right on time, another one of the doors groaned under the pressure of the dead outside. The four of them eyed the barricade, stiffening themselves in case they needed to leap into action. The door groaned again as whatever had pressed against it moved on. Carol sent Sophia upstairs. Despite her fear, the girl turned around at the top of the staircase to watch her mother and Daryl. 

Daryl swallowed his next outburst. In a measured tone, he said, "Fine. But if you don' do somethin' eventually, I will."

Kenny took a long drag on his cigarette and eyed Daryl and his family carefully. The man never promoted outright violence, but then again, never had someone done violence within his walls. Overwhelmed, Kenny gave in with a shrug. "No doubt he'd deserve it. But I gotta ask ya to wait."

Daryl gave him a grim nod and yanked himself up from the step.

"If you think of a way to get rid of the dead and need help, let us know." Carol offered.

Kenny let out a smoky whistle through his teeth. "Of course."

He was still pacing the dining room hall when Daryl and Carol reached the top of the stairs. Limping, Daryl had extra time to watch Kenny finish his cigarette, stomp it under his boot, and grab another. 

Once at the top, they gathered Sophia and finally retreated into their room.

* * *

The first night, no one slept. Carol tried to persuade Sophia to sleep with soft hums and bedtime stories, but the girl was not swayed. The three of them together ended up just sitting on Daryl's bed, tight and close to one another. Carol wrapped Daryl's knee and washed the cut on his face. Sophia spun her penny on the tiled floor until she just gave up and laid down next to her mother.

The sun rose but the dead were still outside. They'd ripped a larger hole in the fence and now the entire protective barrier seemed to wobble in the mass. Bodies could be heard bumping against the front doors throughout the day. Trapped between the fence and the building, they milled about, always searching for food.

No one mentioned Neal or how the guard tower was gone, crushed beneath the dead.

On the second day, Daryl finally managed to sleep. The beating caught up with him and he passed out for most of the morning and afternoon. As if he was someone worth copying, Sophia also napped in her room, exhausting winning over fear. If Carol slept, he wasn't sure; whenever he was awake, so was she. He caught her staring out the window, coming back with rations, or trying to read a book. Late in the day, she slammed the book down on the table and cupped her hands over her ears, just to try and muffle the sound of the dead for a moment. Daryl got up and wrapped himself around her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, the action small, but it seemed to comfort her.

The dead still did not leave.

* * *

On the third night, Daryl glared out the window from the table, gnawing one finger nail at a time. The roundhouse was now just a giant food stash for the dead. In the moon light, the mass of dead flowed like an ocean, unending and powerful. Daryl spat out a nail for every discarded escape plan that came to him. They were trapped and their best bet was to hope that the walkers wandered off on their own. If only there was a way to distract them, to encourage them to leave the fence...

He pinched the bridge of his nose and flinched. Every time he brushed a bruise it was a stark reminder of unfinished business. Kenny had promised Jonathan's punishment but only after they got rid of the dead. Daryl wasn't used to waiting for justice, he usually got his own revenge the instant he decided he wanted it.

Was he trying so hard to figure out an escape plan just so Jonathan could finally get what was coming to him? Daryl discarded that possibility; he wasn't so selfish and reckless to use that as a primary driving force. No, he had promised to keep Carol and Sophia safe. And even all his strength and skill couldn't get them out of this.

He bit again at another finger while this behemoth of a problem ate at him. It was enough of a distraction that he didn't hear Carol join him.

"Hey." Carol leaned her head on the window. "How are you feeling?"

His ribs ached plenty and he was pretty sure he'd have a limp for awhile. Still, he shrugged, "Good enough." Seeing her frown, he added, "Really. I'll be alright."

Then, because he'd run out of escape routes to ponder and to convince her he was telling the truth, he pulled her into his lap. She sighed against him, eagerly accepting the comfort that came with physical touch. She, with her head on his shoulder, and he with his hands around her, sat in the night while the dead circled the building like sharks. The building moaned and yet Daryl had found momentary peace. 

The dead outside be damned. 

Jonathan and the others be damned. 

Carol was beautiful iced in moonlight and he had her in his arms.

He nearly missed the first kiss on his neck. A hushed secret, her breath just barely there. The second one was more overt, her mouthing the soft skin where the collar of his shirt ended.

"Carol?" He fingered the hem of her shirt as fire from his core licked up his body.

Carol untucked her shirt to give him access as she kissed his mouth. It started soft, but she quickly gave into a hunger, fisting his shirt and deepening the kiss. Panting, Daryl drew away. He looked across the room to the closed door separating them from Sophia, his eyebrow cocked with a question.

Carol brought him back to her with a light caress to his cheek. "She's asleep," she whispered. The little movements of her hips in his lap were all the convincing he needed.

He simply nodded and slipped his fingers under her shirt to explore that hidden skin. Much like when he was outside, he was an attentive wanderer. Daryl traced the edge of her pants, paused briefly when he found one of her scars he had been wrongly blamed for. His chest tightened. 

"Don' wanna hurt ya," he rasped then, skipping ahead to where this surely was going and suddenly afraid. He couldn't have her doing something just because death was outside and hungry for them. As tantalizing as Carol was, all pale freckled skin and sweat, he placed his hands over hers, willed them to slow down. 

"You won't," she promised. Frowning, she parted his hair and ran a finger long the frayed edge of a bandage. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He drew his face to hers again and murmured against her lips, "'M fine."

He thought he could trace the bumps of her spine forever until he hit the clasp of her bra and then even that gift wasn't enough. She grinned like a cat as she undid the clasp and threw the bra behind her. His pants were suddenly too tight. 

"Carol," he said, her name coated in awe.

Smirking, she directed his hand over her breast, still covered with her shirt. He groaned and thrust under her, seeking friction.

"Hush," she chided, but grinned again. 

He pinched a nipple through the fabric and she threw back her head just in time for the moon to highlight the curve of her neck.

"Hush," he repeated and pulled her mouth to his. 

It's addicting, her tongue along his, the way her body responded to his touch. The feeling dampened the pain still plaguing his body slowly until he forgot about his injuries. Boldly, he unbuttoned one, two buttons on her shirt before she sighed in frustration and tossed the piece of clothing over her head. He barely had time to admire her collarbone or the swell of her breasts because she set to work on his own shirt buttons. 

He idly mused, _"We never did figure out how thin the walls are."_

Then he's drowning in lavender and the scent of her. The second she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, her hands moved to unbuckle his belt. Daryl froze, no doubts left as to where they were headed. Carol used that moment to stand and tug at his jeans. Bent over, her skin flushed in the silver light, she locked her gaze onto his.

His chest rose sharply. He wanted and grasped for her. Just out of his reach, she slipped out of her pants in one smooth movement. He choked down a hungry growl. 

"Patience," she said and he swore she purposely took her time dragging her fingers under the hem of his pants and tugging. Yet, he let her. Once she had his jeans over his knees, she settled happily back down onto his lap where just his boxers and her panties separated them.

The chair squeaked. They both stilled even though there was no way to correct themselves quietly if they were caught. Despite the risk, they started back up with wild grins plastered across their faces. High on the entire situation, like the times he and Merle just dodged the police, he chuckled, deep and rumbling. Carol's heart pattered strong and steady against him as they kissed. He kept searching for that friction, finding the right angle and then losing it. Each success was honey sweet and lasted not nearly long enough to satisfy.

Breathless, Carol eventually pulled away and slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxers. The angle was awkward, but it didn't matter. He hissed in pleasure as she tightened her grip around him. Stars sparkled in her gaze, mischievous and dazzling at the same time. She removed his hand from the back of her head and directed him to the junction of her legs. When he caressed her just right, she moaned into his mouth.

Intoxicated, he chased that sound and tried to get her to make it again. His waistband snapped back into place as Carol looped her hands back around his neck. He almost didn't miss her hand around him. Not when her breath came in short, fast puffs. Not when he could make her squirm like this.

"That's it," she said. Carol threw her head back and hung there, suspended, for a few moments. Then she shuddered and collapsed against him.

In one swooping motion, he lifted her and together they fell to his mattress. Daryl couldn't look away from her as he struggled to kick his pants and boxers from his ankles. Her dark, heavy gaze locked onto him as she removed her last piece of clothing. It was an invitation with only one choice. He didn't want to fuck it up. He leaned over her and planted a shaky kiss on her mouth. 

"Hey," she gently whispered, her curious fingers running through his hair and then down to his shoulders. "It's alright."

Carol drew him in with a peck to his jaw line and then claimed his mouth with a steady hunger. Like so many times before, on the train, at their arrival to Genesis, she led him where they needed to go. In a clever move with her leg and a shift of her hips, he slipped inside her. She swallowed up his gasp with a humming kiss. Their bodies shivered together.

He'd forgotten what it felt like when he was sober. Maybe he'd never had sex without alcohol numbing his system. Certainly, none of his partners ever had the hold in his heart that Carol had.

He knew he wouldn't last long. 

Daryl stopped to kiss her long and hard. Even if it was clumsy. With the first roll of his hips, he touched his forehead to hers. 

"Fuck," he breathed.

"Yes," she teased back, "that's a word for it."

With a growl, he kissed her twisted lips. Just a couple of thrusts, their hips meeting, parting, and back together again. Carol beneath him, biting her lip to keep her moans soft, but not silent. It was too soon, but also a long time coming. Daryl climaxed with a grunt and a shudder.

He flipped over to the side, instantly conscious about squishing her. The moon blanketed them in an afterglow. His breathing slowed as his sweat dried. Turning to face her, he propped himself up on an elbow with a blush across his face.

"You okay? I didn't...hurt ya or anything?"

"No. I told you, you wouldn't."

Daryl laid back down, feeling drunk. The moment his back touched the mattress, he shot back up. "Fuck. I...fuck. I didn't use a condom or anythin'."

Carol circled a hand around his bicep. "It's okay. We're okay."

"Ya sure?" Heat flooded across his face again.

"I had my tubes tied. After Sophia," she finished in a rush, eyes cast to the floor for a second before finding his again.

"Alright, then," he said, still a little embarrassed. "Ya--"

She cut him off with a finger to his lips. "Shush."

Grinning, he drew her down to the mattress with him, determined not to let her leave. His fear was unfounded. Carol draped a hand across his chest and snuggled against his side. Despite the heat, he covered them with a sheet. The bit of modesty wouldn't have saved them in the rare case that Sophia woke up before them, but a little bit of recklessness kept them from putting any clothing back on. That, and he found he wasn't done with feeling her skin against his.

He fell asleep idly stroking her shoulder, content.

Eventually, a weak gray light filtered in through the windows. It was a quiet morning. Daryl's arm was asleep under Carol. He carefully released himself so as not to wake her. She shifted, mumbled something, and turned back over.

He rubbed his eyes, mindlessly grabbed his discarded clothing and dressed. Finally, with a fresh shirt over his head, he glanced outside.

The horde was gone. 

He nearly tripped over a chair on his way to clasp the window sill. Heart hammering, Daryl pressed himself to the window pane and adjusted his excitement.

Most of the horde was gone. There were still dozens of the dead trapped by the wall and the building. What was left of the chain link fence had been trampled into bits and pieces. Questions flew to the front of his mind. Where did they go? What drew them off? 

In the end, did it matter?

"Carol," he said. When she didn't respond, he gently shook her shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Come look." Daryl helped her to her feet, threw the sheet around her body, and drew her to the window. 

She gasped. "They're all gone!"

He swept his gaze across the horizon, but saw no remnants of the massive ocean of dead. That's when he also noticed something else was missing. Frowning, he muttered, "Where's the damn train?"


End file.
